


So We Dance the Dance

by iwtv



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Happy Ending, Jealousy, Lots of Angst, M/M, Rough Sex, and billy and flint chase each other like horny dogs, but then feelings got involved, drinking absinthe! with John, flint tortures himself as usual, fluffy sex, this started out as a straight up PWP in a brothel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7995616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the anniversary night of joining the Walrus, Billy finds himself in a brothel room with Flint and a whore, and a chance encounter snowballs into something much more. (OR like the tags say. xD) No real timeline here, it just kind of happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So We Dance the Dance

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this a month ago and didn't have the patience to post it chapter by chapter, so here it is in its entirety. Hope you enjoy. Leave me feeeedback! And check me out on tumbles at iwtv2007 and flintfiction. :)

Turks and Caicos Islands  
\--------

“Come on, you assholes, give me a break.”

Billy’s words might as well have fell on deaf ears. His drunk and rowdy brothers roared out more laughter at him, mistaking his annoyance for more jesting. Billy was not jesting, at least not anymore. They had convinced him to go upstairs to where the rooms were, though by the time he stepped on the top floor Billy decided he’d much rather simply drink this anniversary away and not get laid.

“Come on, Billy boy,” said Donny, a rough-and-tumble brother roughly Billy’s age, “You’re the only one who ain’t dipped his wick since we’ve returned from sea. It’s been nearly three weeks! Time to get wet all over again!”

The five or so other crew members hooted out laughter again, ushering him across the tavern’s balcony and to the second to last door at the end. Billy clutched his bottle of rum to him, deciding it was better to let the men have their fun with him for now.

It wasn’t that he had no desire for sex; it was that he did not wish to have it with any of the always-eager women who worked here.

Still he opened the door offered to him and they shoved him in. Moments later they had all turned and shouted anew, pushing in the prostitute whom they had paid for. She was laughing delightedly along with them before she’d even seen Billy; he wondered just how much of a performance these women gave.

“Oh, and uh, somethin’ else,” said Donny, slurring his words slightly as his drinking began to catch up with him. “They’ve done run out of rooms for the night, so looks like you an’ the captain will share a room…and a whore!”

More roaring laughter.

“Jesus,” muttered Billy.

“All right, for fuck’s sake.”

Billy whirled around, seeing that their captain was already present. Flint strode over to the door and shut it in the face of the leering men and locked it. Their laughing and lewd jokes continued for a moment longer before it grew quieter.

Flint, Billy judged, did not look any more pleased with the situation than he himself was. Still, he couldn’t help the small, lop-sided grin that came to his face at the thought of the men dragging their captain up here, a scenario that most certainly was hard to picture. So Billy was curious.

“How in the hell did they convince *you* of this?” he asked.

“Tuh,” said Flint, glancing at the door again, then frowning. “I suppose I let them *volunteer* me into the situation. They were all drunk. And the occasion did not seem like something so easily dismissed.”

Billy felt himself sobering at Flint’s words. He saw Flint’s jade eyes flash at him for a second before he turned and strode over to the room’s single chipped and peeling chair and took a seat, arms crossed.

The occasion Flint spoke of was none other than the day of Billy’s rescue from the hands of the navy who had press ganged him into service. Some of Billy’s memories regarding that horrid time period had dimmed, but other, more scarring incidents remained like a fresh wound on his mind. It had taken some time after he had accepted piracy for him to realize that Flint had not simply rescued him; he had been Billy’s salvation.

Now, thinking on what he had hoped to drink away, Billy sat down his decanter of rum on the bedside table, suddenly afraid that the strong liquid would revive those memories he wished to cast out for the remainder of night. It was one of the reasons he usually avoided the bottle, though tonight he had been forced to make an exception; his brothers closest to him had insisted on celebrating the event.

And evidently Flint had felt the same obligation. He also had carried a bottle into the room. It sat on the small round table by the chair. Billy wondered how much he’d had to drink.

Both their attentions ended up on the room’s singular feature, which was the large bed centered against the wall and the woman undressing on it, displaying herself on her spread knees and grinning at Billy as she peeled off the thin, lacy garment that covered her body. Billy had to admit they had chosen a woman who suited his tastes—visually anyway. She was fair of skin and her hair was a dark yellow with pretty streaks. Green-gray eyes. He liked that. The rest of her was much the same as the other prostitutes of back in Nassau. This one had smallish tits. It was certainly possible for Billy to get worked up for her, if he were of the mood. His eyes darted back to Flint, who had stretched his legs out and crossed them, looking bored. Billy was suddenly unsure of just how this was supposed to work.

The whore beckoned to him, glancing over and trying to do the same to Flint.

“I can take two of you at once, if you’re worried,” she said smoothly, her smile plastered on her face. “Or…”

She moved her eyes languidly from Flint back to Billy. “I can wear each of you out separately.”

She bit her bottom lip seductively as though trying to hide her insinuation. Billy hesitantly approached the bed, looking over to Flint. Flint’s eyes met his own and Billy could see he had no intention of joining them.

“Get on with it,” Flint said gruffly. “I have to wait until they’ve either passed out or left before going back down again,” he added.

Billy inwardly winced. He was right. Neither of them could simply pay the woman and leave so soon, not with half the crew down below, expecting both of them to remain for a few hours in the whore’s company. Flint, it seemed, was conceding the whore to him.

Billy looked at Flint again, feeling something off but he could not be sure of what it was. He could, however, identify and place the uncomfortable feeling of having sex in front of his captain, which were for more reasons than simple modesty.

He took another swig from the bottle, figuring that some light-headedness might be called for in his current situation. He drank, then, as an acceptance of the whore’s offer and offered her the bottle as well. Smiling, she took a long swallow, not flinching. She had done this little show before, he realized. Billy then put the bottle aside again and started taking off his clothes unceremoniously. He very purposefully kept his line of sight on only the girl and the bed, not allowing himself to even consider the brooding figure in the corner of the room.

\-------------

James watched as Billy began stripping his clothes off. He couldn’t tell if the bosun was at ease or not. Typically the tales he’d heard of men and their whores began with much more gusto than this, but he was fairly certain Billy’s low key behavior had to do with his own presence in the room. The damn crew.

Flint frowned again and looked away as Billy kicked off his boots and he heard the tinging of belt buckles. Still, he could not deny the gravity of the day for himself, even if he’d never admit it to anyone else.

Saving Billy from the navy had easily been one of the best, wreckless decisions he’d ever made.

It had been—what?--nearly eight years now since he’d first laid eyes on the *HMS Ferret,* little more than a large sloop commanded by a group of defiant and arrogant naval officers. That time reminded James of several things: Hal Gates alive and the closest thing he’d had to a friend, the newfound excitement of being a thief, and sorrow at attacking the once-proud Thing he’d forsaken. Seeing the officers wearing their navy blue uniforms and black hats and boots, nearly identical to the ones he had still owned only two years earlier…

James cut off the train of thought. There was too much pain there and always would be no matter how much time was in-between. Instead he remembered Billy from then. Without thinking James’s eyes went to the bed and there Billy was, naked and kissing the whore, climbing onto the bed after her. James quickly averted his gaze but it was too late. He’d seen all of Billy in the quick glance. Swallowing, he reached over and took a small drink of his rum.

Jesus, eight years. Billy had barely been a man then, in his early twenties. His treatment on board the Ferret had already hardened him. James could still remember the bruises all over his body and the way Billy had walked with his head bowed as though anything else demanded the whip. Such had been the conditions of several other men on board. James and Gates had both known why—these were the men who kept defying their so-called superiors, the men who refused to simply take their unjust beatings and pretend they deserved it. These were the men who deserved something more, he had decided.

Billy had eventually thanked him for his rescue, of course. After Gates had named him bosun and once Billy’s wounds had healed, he’d come to James in his cabin one day, nearly as frightened as he’d been on the Ferret all over again. James had done his best to assuage Billy’s worries. Billy had spoken briefly about how awful his time with the navy had been and how grateful he was to both James and Hal for choosing the Ferret as their next prize.

It had touched him, the way Billy had looked at him then. There was no fear there anymore. Billy had grown into a powerful, assertive, and loyal man who respected his new superior; respected him. And now as James thought on it he still swore there had been something else alight in Billy’s eyes that day, something deeper, but he had denied himself the possibility almost as quickly as he’d realized its existence.

The whore’s giggles distracted him. He dared to glance up again, just barely, then looked more when he saw that the woman was kneeling in front of Billy on the bed, effectively blocking James from seeing Billy’s naked body. That allowed him to look at the bosun’s well muscled arms, tinged with sweat, as he reached up and squeezed the whore’s ass. James saw her hand go down and begin pulling between Billy’s legs. Something in him quickened at the sight and James quickly averted his gaze.

\-----------------

Billy could feel the heat start to build in him as the whore pushed him against the headboard, still on his knees, and took him into her mouth. Now it became harder to avoid the third figure in the room, whose shape hovered in Billy’s peripheral vision. As the woman experimented with her tongue on his cock the bosun’s eyes wondered over to the left corner of the room for a quick second. Flint wasn’t looking at them but he had uncrossed his legs and sat rigid in the chair. Billy let a moan escape his throat as the whore rolled her tongue around his tip. He grabbed her hair and timed his thrusts into her mouth. As though his eyes were possessed by some demon he dared another look to his left and inwardly froze when Flint’s sea-green eyes locked with his.

A new heat flooded through Billy and only part of it was from humility. He averted his gaze again but already Flint’s eyes were seared into his memory. Jesus, Billy thought. Flint had not accidentally been looking; his eyes had been fixated on Billy. Not the girl.

The whore’s mouth left his cock. She rose to her knees, sliding her hands up his chest and wrapping them around his neck.

“Just a little taste of what I can do for you, darling,” she said, grinning smugly. “Anything specific you had in mind?”

“Yea.”

Billy turned her around on the bed, hands on her hips. Understanding his intent she got down on her hands and knees and spread her legs. He came up behind her and took his cock in hand. And damn it all, he looked over to Flint again. What the fuck was wrong with him? Before he could even begin to think of an answer to the question he saw the captain’s sea-green eyes staring at him. Billy could not deny the sharp heat that spread throughout his gut this time. Flint was watching him.

\--------------------

When Billy had caught his gaze again James wasn’t certain what awed him more—Billy’s brazenness or his own for staring back. His breathing was short and heavy and James tried hard to ignore the bulge growing under his pants. He looked up at the nude woman, back arched, and tried to focus on her, to tell himself this was the cause of his arousal, but it was a lie.

The truth was the sight of Billy made his cock twitch and push against his trousers. He’d gotten quite used to his bosun’s naked chest before, but now, seeing Billy’s thighs and catching glimpses of his cock as he readied it behind the woman made him hot all over as though seeing Billy for the first time. And in a way, he figured, he was. He was seeing what was supposed to be a man’s private moment, seeing Billy’s sexual need manifest itself in his face, his body language. His eyes.

Eyes that were less focused on the prize before him than they were on his captain.

He had never expected this. It probably meant nothing. Plenty of men had threesomes with a woman between them; perhaps Billy had before. Perhaps it only served to make him more aroused for the whore. Even as that thought entered his mind James discarded the possibility; he didn’t want a threesome.

He should go. He eyed the door, his hands gripping the arms of the frail chair until they ached. Just get up and leave, he told himself. But even as he tensed to do just that he found he could not. The sounds of Billy fucking the whore reached his ears. His throat was dry. He closed his eyes and willed himself to stand. He did. Fuck, he needed to be out of this room. He’d go downstairs; to hell with the men. He’d tell them he was going to let Billy have his fun for a while. None of them would dare tease him about it.

James reached the door and twisted the knob.

“Wait.”

His hand froze in place over the brass. Billy’s voice was thick and breathless. James turned his head just an inch.

“Don’t…ah…don’t go.”

It took several seconds before James could reply.

“Why not? I’ll be fine.”

“Wait. Please.”

Less breathless this time. The sounds of their coupling had ceased and the whore whined. James clenched his jaw. Just fucking leave, he roared inside his mind.

“I’ve got to go, Billy,” he said.

“Why?”

James startled. Billy’s voice was much closer. James turned his head more, just enough to make out a blur of slick, sun-soaked skin behind him.

\---------------------

Billy honestly did not know how to answer the question to either of their satisfaction. He knew he didn’t want Flint to leave; he had actually stopped in the middle of sex to keep him here. And it was clear Flint was on edge. But why? He’d begrudgingly accepted the whole idea of sharing this room earlier. What had changed?

Billy was afraid to step any closer, afraid James would bolt like a jackrabbit out the door. And maybe he should let him. A voice in his head screamed at him that it was the sensible thing Flint ought to do…but they both knew damn well that had he so wished it, Flint would have already left without another word.

But there he was, waiting for Billy to answer him.

“You’ll miss your chance,” Billy finally said.

Flint’s head tilted a bit more towards him, enough so that Billy caught a sliver of his eye. He straightened himself, then turned completely around, hand falling off the doorknob. Billy was taken aback by the captain’s stony expression. He looked at Billy with bored, dull eyes.

“I’ve got to piss. And clearly you’re enjoying yourself so I forfeit her all to you,” he said, voice matching his expression. As though he had not a single care in the world for fucking a whore. Billy had known men who cared less for whores than others, but to act so disinterested suggested one of two things to the bosun. One was that Flint wasn’t capable of being aroused. He’d known men with that unfortunate affliction as well. The second possibility was that Flint simply didn’t like women.

Of the two possibilities, Billy found himself more than ready to discard the former idea. A voice in his head asked why? But he knew why. Perhaps it was time to stop playing games. There was a strong chance that if he reached out and touched Flint, the captain would turn and punch him or worse. Billy knew he was exceptionally strong, however, and so did the captain.

He looked up and met Flint’s eyes evenly. He stood nude in front of the other man, his erection still there. Behind them both the whore started to complain. Billy told her to shut up and wait a moment.

Flint rolled his eyes and reached for the door again.

“I’m going. Good evening.”

Billy felt some madness possess him. It was more than just a spontaneous, stupid curiosity. He needed to know one, singular thing, and Billy let it take hold of him. He reached out quickly and grabbed the front of Flint’s crotch and squeezed. He inhaled sharply at the stiffness his palm touched. Flint was straining his trousers, as aroused as Billy had been only moments before.

He had little time to process that revelation, however, because Flint had reacted, forearm coming in painful contact with Billy’s jugular and slamming him bodily up against the door before Billy could react. Dimly he was aware of the whore crying out and Flint telling her to shut up.

Flint’s other arm came to pin itself against Billy’s chest, trapping his arms in place. Billy knew he could have broken the hold if he tried but instead he let himself be pinned.

\---------------------

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

James sneered at the bosun, keeping his forearm planted firmly over Billy’s throat. He felt Billy struggle to swallow. Behind them the whore let out a shriek. James lessened the pressure so Billy could speak but did not move.

“Does it…look like…I’m trying to hurt you?” came Billy’s pinched response. His pale blue eyes were looking down at him pointedly. There was no fear there. No matter what situations he and Billy found themselves in nowadays and no matter how vicious their spats with one another could get, James was still surprised that Billy no longer harbored any fear of him.

Ironic, James thought, considering how much more brutal he’d become as of late.

Yet Billy’s eyes were clear and steady. As James’s mind slowly wrapped itself around Billy’s true meaning he felt his grip against the bosun lessen despite himself. Billy could have easily matched him, probably even beat him in a fair fight. James was aware of this and yet Billy hadn’t fought against him.

James released him. Billy coughed a few times and caught his breath.

“For fuck’s sake,” he breathed out. “You’re quicker than a bloody snake, you are,” he said.

James ignored the comment.

“What the fuck do you want, Billy?”

James felt his heart pounding against his chest as he asked the question.

Billy took a long, deep breath. He licked his lips and stepped forward again, this time with measured slowness, then reached out. James’s muscles tensed but he made no move to stop Billy. Billy’s eyes flicked up to his own, silently seeking permission. James held his gaze as Billy’s hand reached the front of his trousers again. He took another step towards him so that they were only inches apart now.

James steeled himself as Billy’s hand once again found his crotch and pressed into it. He was still achingly hard. His mouth went dry all over again at the bosun’s touch, the heat from his palm feeling much warmer than James thought it should have been.

\-------------------

Billy squeezed on Flint’s erection. A small noise escaped him. Good God. Flint was still hard, and so was he. His face inches away from his captain’s, Billy took his other hand and began unbuckling Flint’s belt, pulling and yanking at it until it was undone. He held Flint’s fiery gaze, afraid for some reason that if he looked away Flint would falter.

The whore—Billy had nearly forgotten her— approached them, smiling and strutting up to trace a finger over Flint’s arm.

“Perhaps I should leave you two alone?” she teased.

Billy forced his eyes from Flint for a second to meet hers and said, “Perhaps you should.”

All the amusement drained from the girl’s pretty face, replaced by disappointment.

“You’ve already been paid,” said Billy. “Wait just outside the door. Do not saying a fucking word to anyone.”

He gave her his darkest look, knowing that’s all it would take to convince her of his seriousness. It was. With a nervous nod the girl dressed quickly and left them, discreetly opening and closing the door behind her. Billy’s gaze instantly travelled back to his captain.

Amazingly Flint let him take off his belt, eyes guarded but steady. It was not until he let Billy rip into his pants, however, that Billy felt another pang of sexual heat fill him, his blood pumping hotly through his veins at what his captain was allowing. He imagined a blow job. Yes, that’s what it would be; what the captain would allow, to have Billy wrap his lips around his cock.

Billy wormed a hand inside his pants. He noticed Flint’s touch on his hip. Fingers lightly gripped him as he pulled out Flint’s cock. Jesus. Flint was rock-hard. Billy tried to keep his breathing steady as he began stroking Flint’s length. He was suddenly afraid to look up and meet his captain’s eyes. Billy recalled the closest they’d come to even a hint of intimacy was the time he’d told Flint in his quarters how he had appreciated being saved from naval service. He vividly remembered feeling as though some undercurrent was in the room between them then; Flint had given him a look—confusion mixed with sudden curiosity—before Billy had realized he’d nearly given the game away by the way he was watching Flint. It had been nearly impossible to speak about just how happy he was to be on the Walrus, to be serving under Flint, and to keep a straight face.

Now, the struggle do the same was even worse. He focused on Flint’s cock, thick and flushed and warm in his hand. He could feel Flint’s eyes on him and his hand gripping his thigh. When he finally looked up a soft moan escaped his throat. Flint was looking at him with lidded eyes, his expression slack and filled with want. Yet even as it sent a jolt of sexual energy through Billy and made his own cock stiffen he saw Flint try to fight it, expression growing hard when Billy’s eyes found his own.

\-------------------------

James wanted desperately to pull away, to stop this before it went any further. That was a lie as much as it was the truth, he knew. But Billy had dropped all pretenses and with his other hand he firmly pulled James closer, pumping his cock at a steady pace. The motion was shockingly demanding. Acting as the ship’s bosun Flint knew Billy had no problem with asserting his authority when it was needed or when James gave him permission to, but it had never occurred to James that Billy might seek such dominance in other parts of his life as well.

Now, Billy’s carefully place thumb on him made James gasp. His hand traveled up from Billy’s thigh to his waist and dug in as his cock began to ache. Billy squeezed his hand slowly over James’s head, causing precum to dribble out.

“Fuck. Billy,” he moaned. He turned his head away and tensed, ready to push the bosun away. Everything was happening too quickly now; the heat was building fast and his groin was pleasantly on fire. Billy was going to make him come.

Billy resisted his resistance and without warning pushed him up against the wall beside the door. It was rough enough for James’s back to make a soft thudding sound against the green paint.

He gritted his teeth.

“Damn you,” he muttered.

He should have forced Billy off him. He should have cursed him, maybe even have punched him, but none of those actions would have been because anything was Billy’s fault.

The pleasure radiating from him robbed him of his will and instead he let Billy go down on him, let his bosun’s lips wrap around him, his hot and wet mouth plundering his cock.

James couldn’t keep his breath from stuttering loudly as Billy sucked him. Every muscle in his body was tense. He pushed himself into the wall as though he hoped he would fall through it. He looked down at Billy’s beautiful, sandy brown hair, then his forehead and nose and finally his lips as they pulled along his shaft, wetting him down. Billy’s hand came up to fondle his scrotum and James bit back a noise, struggling to hold it all in.

\------------------------

Billy felt the heat acutely on his cheeks from alcohol and lust in equal amounts, one adding fuel to the other. He shamelessly moved his mouth around Flint’s cock, still in awe that his captain was allowing it. He licked and sucked at his tip as more precum came out and he could sense Flint was wound so tight he was going to burst any moment. It thrilled him more than he ever thought it would—and briefly, the thought flashed across his consciousness that he should be afraid. If this happened, what would Flint do afterwards?

He’d heard tales in the drunken dead of night of men—and not just sailors—who had indulged themselves with one another and the interaction ended in murder; their own shame and fear of discovery too great.

Was Flint capable of the same?

Of murder, certainly, but it seemed unlikely to Billy that Flint would seek to harm him after this. Either way Billy could hardly think upon it because Flint’s breathing above was becoming audible; short and clipped and he was pushing his cock into Billy’s mouth, hands digging into the bosun’s shoulders.

Then Billy felt a particular twitch from Flint and a second later, hot spurts of come shot inside his mouth.

Intoxicated with it beyond reason, Billy firmly pushed on Flint’s ass, taking down as much of his cock as he could as Flint came. He arched his back and raised his head enough to look up. Flint was in the thrall of his climax, eyes closed and head thumped against the wall. Billy quickened at the sight. Good God, he was doing this to his captain.

Billy finished cleaning Flint’s cock with his mouth, swallowing and wiping the last of him away. He rocked back on his heels, not quite trusting himself to stand yet. Flint’s breathing was ragged. He looked as though he wanted to disappear into the wall. His shoulders were slightly hunched and it was as though he were trying to curl into himself.

Billy was only half baffled by the reaction, because when Flint did open his eyes Billy recognized some kind of pain hovering around the edges, a pain whose presence was familiar to him by now but one which he still did not fully comprehend. Why was he wearing that look now?

More than ever he wanted to know what the hell was the cause of it.

Even so, Billy pushed his concerns aside and slowly stood, backing up at the same time. Flint separated himself from the wall, seeming to become himself again as he did so. Billy supposed he should regain himself as well, but he could not. His head and heart were pounding with equal exhilaration; his blood was on fire. He stared blatantly at Flint as the older man pulled up his pants and snatched his belt off the floor.

“Glad you got that out of your system,” Flint grunted as he half turned and fixed his belt into place, his face away from Billy.

He would have to proceed very, very carefully from here on out.

“And you?” Billy asked, one eyebrow raised.

\-----------------------

James buckled his belt and cracked his neck. He let Billy’s question hang in the air for a minute before he turned to face him.

“Can’t complain,” he said, not trusting himself to speak in complete sentences just yet.

He wasn’t even certain his voice was entirely normal yet either, and Billy wasn’t simply looking at him now but was scrutinizing him, analyzing him for giveaways. James did not want this between them, to play this game, yet what choice did he have? He’d given in to a moment of weakness.

It was hard to deny how good it had felt, but it was more than that. Everything about the bosun had screamed that he wanted James, from his eyes to his body language. It was clear this was no simple, meaningless encounter to the bosun; Billy had wanted him. It had been a long time since he’d seen such desire from someone for himself, and Jesus, was it intoxicating.

He had let himself fantasize about Billy before, about the looks they sometimes exchanged. For all James knew—after eight years—Billy had fancied him as well, but it had never mattered because James knew nothing would ever come of it. Recent events, however, had pushed their paths even closer together, and ever since Billy had returned from Hume and the Scarborough, things had been different between them. In certain ways, James had noticed, they truly were closer than ever. The foreboding of conflict with England and especially following the events of Charlestown had forced them to rely on one another. That reliance had only grown in the wake of Woodes Rogers’ appearance and the promise of certain war.

And, James had also noticed, their relationship had grown more strained than ever. There was an anger around Billy almost every time they spoke. Flint told himself it had to do with Gates.

Conflicting thoughts spun themselves into a rut inside his head as he walked over to the small round table and took a long drag of the warm rum and let out a deep breath. Billy remained by the bed, putting on his clothes. James tried not to watch. Intoxicating, indeed. But it was over now.

The physical distance he had put between them had helped. Everything seemed to come back into focus. He once again heard the rowdy noises coming from downstairs and remembered suddenly the whore who was supposed to be waiting on the other side of the door.

“I’m going downstairs,” he said. “I’m having a drink with the men before I leave. I suggest you do the same.”

Billy fixed his shirt into place, necklaces clinking together. Flint forced himself to make eye contact one last time. Billy’s eyes were wide and nearly black in the dim light. Somehow he looked more alive than Flint had seen him in a long time. He pictured Billy touching him again, the look of pure want written on his face. James’s chest expanded and quickened. He needed to leave.

The whore was just outside, leaning against the wall and looking bored until she saw him. Immediately she straightened and rambled on about not have told a soul anything at all. Even so James’s better judgment told him to pay the girl extra to keep it that way so he did. Then she smiled at him, much more at ease, and took her leave. He sighed. No doubt he wasn’t the first man to pay off a whore for the same reasons here but that was something men like him could only ever speculate about.

Perhaps it was the rum working on him, but for a few precious seconds he longed for the intimate conversations with Thomas when they could talk about this very thing, alone and together, warm and safe.

James banished his usual cacophony of ghosts away and descended the stairs. The place was still crowded and he was glad they had not come out of the room together. The tavern here was much the same as the main tavern in Nassau Town, just a different building with a different layout. The men were the same mixture of pirates, privateers, and merchants, none of them giving much thought to the other, as though an unspoken truce were always in place.

His crew spotted him before he had cleared the last of the stairs, and James forced himself to grin at them as they beckoned loudly to him, all thoroughly drunk, he could tell. He decided he was grateful for that, even as he sat down amongst two sticky and overcrowded tables and ordered some ale. They would never notice his actual mood and tonight it would be easier than usual to fool them.

Even drunk, however, they knew better than to ask him about his personal conquests from upstairs.

So mostly he listened to them and pretended to be interested, all the while his gaze drifted up to the banister that wrapped around the second floor. Billy came out at last. He’d walked to the banister and looked down and it was as though he knew exactly where James was. Their eyes met and this time James did not look away. Perhaps it was the crowded room and roaring drunks around him and how it seemed to take the edge off, but he held the gaze for as long as he dared, then shrugged his shoulder with finality before finishing his drink and rising to leave.

\---------------------

Billy clenched his jaw. Flint had shrugged and looked almost carelessly at him. He wasn’t surprised in the least, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a twinge of anger. Billy wanted that look to be a lie.

Even as he pictured it again—Flint touching his waist, then up against the wall; Fuck, Billy—Billy’s pulse quickened.

He went and took a piss, then made his way downstairs as Flint made his way to the door. His brothers called to him from the tables, but he politely declined them and causally made his way out after Flint. The clock to the left of the door told him it was well past midnight. When he stepped outside the air was chill and the sky was inky black, punctured with holes of starlight. He inhaled the crisp air, glad to be rid of the stuffy atmosphere of the tavern. A few yards away he spotted Flint walking down the muddy street and towards an inn. It was the only inn in the small town, and a lot of the crew were staying there as well.

Billy knew Flint rarely did such a thing, preferring his cabin to stay in as most captains did, but at this late hour he was no doubt choosing convenience over comfort.

Billy made up his mind and followed after him, staying at least a dozen yards behind him. There were few lights lit this late but enough for him to navigate by and not become lost. The battered, wooden sign to the inn came into his view. Flint walked underneath it and to the double doors. Billy waited a beat before following. He stood just inside. It was much quieter here, with just a few men huddled around their drinks or food. They all looked like merchants to Billy, probably wary—and weary—of the riff-raff over at the tavern.

Billy watched as Flint paid a woman he assumed worked for the innkeep and pointed him to a room down the single hallway. When Flint disappeared around the corner Billy approached the woman and nodded.

“Hello. I’m here to visit my mate there. Just a quick pinch of business,” he said with a small smile, nodding in the direction Flint had just disappeared to.

As far as she knew men did not room with other men and so, as Billy had thought, she didn’t blink twice at his words. Her eyes skittered over his arm muscles as so many women’s eyes did. He knew what she was thinking, that his purpose could have been to kill the man she’d just given a room to as much as it could have been to see a friend. It hardly mattered either way to him—or to her. Her ignorance worked in his favor and she waved him on.

\----------------------

James took off his belt and coat and boots and laid them out on the trunk at the foot of the bed. He rolled his neck, listening to it crack. He was tired, but he still felt adrenaline running through him. Images of Billy Bones would not let him be. It had been a long time since he’d felt such passion, from another man and possibly even for another man if he were honest with himself. But passion could simply be passion and it did not have to take the shape of anything more significant, he knew. He didn’t love Billy and surely Billy did not love him; how could he?

James went over to the single dresser in the room and sat down in front of the bowl of water, splashing it over his face and arms. No, he had treated Billy too poorly for the bosun to legitimately care about him. And yet…

James let out a huff, puzzled over his bosun’s actions. True, it was the crew that had goaded both of them tonight, and Billy would do anything for his crew. That should have been explanation enough, yet it left James with a bad taste in his mouth. 

The vast majority of men would never seek out martyrdom for a group of men who were mostly strangers. Men only made tremendous sacrifices when it was personal. This was a fact he knew only too well. James’s gut told him that Billy fell into the latter category, that in some way he was as selfish as himself, as Silver was and as Charles Vane had been. Men did things because they cared about certain people, not for ideals or for society. *Most* men, his mind told him, and James winced. Most, but not all.

He strangled that line of thought before anything more than a quick flash of Thomas could enter his mind.

A rapid succession of knocks from the door jarred him. He patted down his face with a cloth and went to the door, expecting it to either be the innkeep wanting more money or one of the men, drunk. Instead Billy’s tall frame filled the space in front of the door.

“Jesus, Billy…”

“Stop, please.”

Billy held up a palm as if asking for amnesty.

“I just want to talk. I know it’s late. I’m sorry.”

His words were curt, and James noticed a tightness to his expression. He sighed. He needed to end this, now.

“Billy, what’s done is done. There’s no need to make something out of nothing.”

Billy’s eyes snapped up to his.

“Nothing? Is that what it was then?”

James instantly regretted the words. Billy’s face seemed to fall before it grew cold. He gave a taut smile.

“Right then. That’s all I needed to know.”

Billy regarded him coolly for another moment before spinning around and leaving when James said nothing more.

He gritted his teeth together. Maybe it was for the best this way. Even so, he cursed himself. Yet another person he was driving away from him when all he wanted to do was the exact opposite.

James shut the door and leaned heavily against it. He found himself wishing Silver were here, imparting some piece of wisdom to him as he had grown accustomed to doing as of late.

Thoughts of his quartermaster reminded him he was not alone. If he had wanted to, he knew he actually could approach Silver with this and that Silver would listen. He had already divulged so much to John, felt as close to him as John had admitted being to him. He should have taken more comfort in that knowledge, that Miranda’s voice from his dreams had been correct and that he no longer had to rely on himself and himself alone.

But something deep within him had been stirred to life by his encounter with Billy. There was something more he needed, something that John’s friendship simply could not reach, no matter how close they had become. He wanted badly to fight against the thing that stirred to life, to rein it in and control it as he had done with so many other things. Yet if John had showed him anything these past few months it was that fighting against his feelings only led to more misery.

“Damnation.”

He flung open the door and hurried out of the building and back into the night. He saw only two or three people out and all else was quiet, save for a barking dog and the cry of a gull, disturbed from its rest somewhere. He headed out back towards the tavern, taking long strides but not quite running. The bright light coming from the tavern revealed more of the street, and walking away from it and towards the beach was Billy, his tall and broad frame unmistakable even from a distance. Was he really going to row all the way out to the Walrus at his hour?

James hurried after him. There was a patchwork of trees and brush that had grown up around the street towards the edge of town, and he caught up to Billy as they passed through them. Billy spun around at his approach.

“Wait a moment,” said James, trying to smooth out his voice so Billy would not become defensive.

\-------------------------

Billy eyed his captain wearily. Surely this was to be something business related, or to make certain that Billy had not forgotten his place and would still serve Flint. But the look on the captain’s face revealed anything but his usual stern self. In the dim light that filtered from town and from the stars above Billy saw an echo of the vulnerability Flint had exposed at the tavern. He doubted neither of them could still be under the influence of rum. What, then?

“I’m not good at explaining myself properly when it comes to…personal matters,” Flint said slowly. Billy felt his pulse quicken again.

Flint rested a hand against one of the trees and stared at it as he spoke, as though he needed an anchor.

“Whatever it is you want from me Billy, I cannot give it. I don’t even understand why you want me.”

Flint looked up at him, eyes searching. Billy crossed his arms tightly against his chest.

“Damned if I know,” replied Billy. “I should want you dead. Some days I do. So many times I thought about taking action against you. And do you know, if I had, I would hardly have to explain myself to the crew? That they would have accepted it? That some of them are always waiting for it? I have that power over you, you know.”

He was shocked at the words coming out of his mouth, but they felt right. Flint looked taken aback.

“It would be so easy, too,” Billy continued, throwing every ounce of caution aside. “I could use your trust in me to my advantage, catch you off guard in the cabin. Overpower you. A simple knife to your belly or throat, then it would be done, and I’d never have to worry about you hurting me again.”

Fuck. He nearly choked on his last sentence. It felt good to say it at last, fuck the consequences. He tensed his muscles, feeling the air around them stir as he watched Flint’s expression change from bewilderment into something darker.

“So it was all a lie, then?” he asked, his hand sliding off the tree trunk. Billy flinched at the motion.

“The night Ben Hornigold was trying to take away the crew,” Flint continued, jade eyes glittering black at Billy. “And you came to me, told me that the past was over and done with. You looked me in the eye and said it didn’t matter what had happened that night with the Andromache. That you’d forgiven me for your fall.”

Flint stepped towards him and Billy steeled himself, uncrossing his arms. His blood was pounding in his ears.

\-------------------------

“I never said I forgave you,” Billy spat back. “And even if I had, what happened with me pales in comparison to what you did to Hal.”

James froze. Hearing his former quartermaster’s first name fall from Billy’s lips sent a wave of crushing guilt through him as though he’d killed Hal yesterday. There was no retort he could give for that sin. Before John Silver, Hal was the closest thing he’d had to a friend. James shook his head, trying to clear it.

“Why the fuck would you even bring that up now?” he hissed at Billy. “Yes, what I did to Mr. Gates was wrong, and I’ll always regret it.”

He felt some of his anger ebb away at the admission, but Billy’s eyes remained hardened against him. James was surprised by how much it hurt him. He turned the feeling outward, stepping up to Billy close enough that the bosun flinched and gripped the hilt of his dagger. James was inches from his face.

“You just sucked my cock,” he said with steel in his voice, “Taking me down like you’d been fantasizing about it for years, and don’t try to deny how badly you wanted me in that room, or the way you wanted to beg for it like a true whore.”

He was ready for it when it came. Billy didn’t pull out the dagger but instead raised a fist aimed at James’s chin. James dodged it but not completely, receiving enough of the blow to knock him off balance.

He let it all go then, let the tidal wave of his fury rise up once more. He slammed into Billy, wrapping his arms around his waist and knocking both of them off their feet. Billy scrambled madly underneath him. Gritting his teeth, James raised a fist and punched Billy in the face, trying to straddle him. Billy punched him hard in the ribs twice. James grunted and Billy shoved him off balance. He lashed out with his boots, trying to keep Billy from pinning him down. Billy grabbed one of his wrists and painfully flung his arm back into the sand. James landed a solid blow with his boot in Billy’s gut but as he tried to rise Billy regained control. He tossed James on his back and pinned his other wrist above his head.

“You bastard,” he gritted out between his teeth.

“Go on then,” James yelled. “Use your fucking advantage!”

He waited for Billy to lay into him, to punch him or beat him senseless, to yell out curses. But he could see no trace of any such passion in the bosun’s dark eyes. If it had been there at all it was quickly fading.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” demanded James. “Why don’t you just—”

Billy bent down and pressed his lips against James’s in a violent kiss, teeth and tongue clashing against James’s mouth. James moaned and tried to push against Billy but in this position he was no match for the strong arms that pinned him in place. Instead he was forced to open his mouth and to meet Billy’s demand. Billy’s tongue found his own and he pressed it far into James’s mouth as if this was also a battle.

With no other way to move James bucked his hips up into Billy and let out a whimper when he felt the hardness in Billy’s crotch. In response Billy straddled him properly and pressed himself down into James. James moaned again, scarcely able to breathe as Billy continued to forcefully kiss him. He was defeated and Billy knew it.

He groaned as Billy’s mouth became less harsh against his own and James caught a breath. Billy was grinding into him now and James felt his cheeks flush at his own growing erection. At last Billy broke off. James gulped in fresh air. Billy kept his wrists pinned and though it hurt he was much too distracted by Billy’s other movements.

“Billy,” he breathed out weakly. Billy was staring at him hard, lips parted, as he seemed to positively writhe over James’s crotch, legs pressed tightly to his thighs.

“God, you should see yourself,” said Billy. “You’re hurting. And fuck me, I just want… to make it go away.”

Billy’s voice was strained; painful to his ears. There was no way he could have predicted this or prepared for it. No way in hell.

James closed his eyes.

“Please, let me up.”

Billy complied, removing himself and standing. James rolled over and pushed himself up. They were both covered in sand and sweat. His cock strained itself in his pants and he saw Billy was the same. What the fuck was wrong with him?

\-----------------------

Billy waited. Flint’s face was red and the veins on the side of his neck and temple seemed to throb. His stormy jade eyes looked at Billy as though he couldn’t decide what he wanted: to fight more or to fuck.

“Can we go back to your room?” Billy asked before he lost his nerve. He could not simply end the night now. His blood was up and he knew without a doubt that he wanted James Flint, wanted him more than he’d wanted someone in a long time. This was more than simple lust, but he’d take what he could get.

It had taken Billy years to even begin to understand his captain’s moods, especially when the two of them were always at a distance from one another. The events surrounding Miranda Barlow had given him some clue, especially her death. He had begun to be able to read Flint’s moods, even if he never knew their cause. Then John Silver had bonded to him. That had changed many things. Billy knew that it would be relatively easy to befriend Silver and that by doing so, he would inevitably get closer to the captain. He wanted to understand Flint, who was like the intricate workings of a clock that ticked on ceaselessly but whose pieces where always hidden from view. 

Under the circumstances, sex seemed like a good start towards that end.

Now, Flint gave him a slow nod to answer his question. Wordlessly he set off back towards the town. Billy followed behind him. Neither of them spoke. By the time they had reached the inn again they had brushed off most of the sand and had wiped away the blood from their faces.

He hadn’t denied it, Billy realized with some shock as they made their way back to the room. Flint hadn’t denied that he had glimpsed his pain, that singular vulnerability which still baffled Billy but made him want Flint all the more.

He wasn’t even sure what would happen once they were inside. It was far too easy for him to picture Flint slipping his mask back on and insisting they both go to sleep, acting as though nothing had happened.

It was almost as easy to picture Flint launching a surprise attack and threatening him with certain death this time. Another thing he’d learned was that when Flint’s blood was up he could be unpredictable.

To the contrary, everything seemed to grow still once the door shut behind them. It was the dead of night and all was quiet, save for the faint chorus of crickets and tree frogs outside. Flint lit four candles, two by the bed and two on the room’s dresser, illuminating everything with a pleasant glow. Then he peeled off his shirt and tossed it over the rest of his clothes on the trunk at the foot of the bed. Billy watched and waited, suddenly unsure.

\------------------------

James saw the timid look sink into Billy’s face. They still hadn’t said a word to each other.

This was his own choice now, he knew. Billy was waiting for him, perhaps seeking permission.

The last time, it had not been his choice but Thomas’s. It was Thomas who had walked up to him, gazing into his eyes with his love laid bare and kissing him. This was different. Billy was not Thomas. They weren’t friends like he and Thomas had been. But James did feel the familiar pull to Billy, felt the warmth spreading through him as he considered his bosun. Billy’s words echoed in his mind: God, you should see yourself. You’re hurting. And fuck me, I just want to make it go away.

“Did you mean what you said,” asked James, voice soft. “About my pain, about wanting to make it go away?”

Billy nodded, his shoulders relaxing somewhat.

James stepped up close to him again, looking up at the taller man and searching his face for any trace of a lie. He should be questioning all this, asking Billy why the hell he would want a captain who had treated him so poorly, had forced him to hold so many grudges against him. Instead, he said softly, “You don’t even know my pain, not truly. Why would you bother?”

Billy’s eyes searched him.

“I know you have good intentions for us,” he said at last. “You had good intentions for Ms.B—for Miranda. I know you weren’t always Captain Flint. She knew you. Silver knows you. I want to know you.”

James felt his chest expand again, the warmth spreading. Billy spoke no poetry but the sound of his words made James ache all over. There was no lie in the words nor the face that looked at his own, full of want.

James moved in, eyes falling to Billy’s lips. Billy closed the space between them and this time it was a true kiss, soft and passionate. They danced around each other’s mouths, exploring.

\----------------------

Billy hummed in the back of his throat when they kissed. There was no violence to it this time. He’d often day-dreamed about what it would feel like to kiss the captain in this way, to have that rough tickle of his beard against his own stubble. He liked the contrast of the beard to the softness of Flint’s lips. Flint opened his mouth wide, engulfing Billy’s and then kissing more tenderly, his tongue flicking out here and there, teeth scraping the bottom of Billy’s lip and sending a pleasant fire through him. He felt his lust from earlier return and wondered just how far Flint would let him go.

He raised his hands to Flint’s waist and pulled him close so that their erections brushed together. A tiny noise escaped Flint. Billy left his mouth and explored the edges of his beard, finding skin and caressing it with his lips, then further down until he was buried in the crook of Flint’s neck. He sucked hard, intending to leave a mark. He hissed sharply when Flint’s hand hooked his neck and jerked him back, jade eyes boring into his. For an instant Billy thought he had done something wrong, but then Flint kissed him hard and began tugging his shirt out from his belt. Billy swallowed, his throat going dry. He tugged off his shirt the rest of the way, necklaces clacking together lightly. Flint seemed to pause and take him in, eyes traveling up and down his chest and torso.

Flint pulled off his boots and unbuckled his belt, tossing it aside and took off his pants in a flurry. Billy scarcely had a chance to see more than a quick flash of Flint’s lower body before the captain assaulted him, wrapping one hand around the nape of Billy’s neck while the other reached around to Billy’s ass and pressed his body into his own.

“Fuck, Flint,” Billy whispered, shocked by his sudden hunger. Flint kissed his collarbone and his throat fervently. Billy let his hand travel up to Flint’s short hair, running his hand over it and digging his fingers in. He traced the black of Flint’s ear, feeling the dull prick of the back of his earring. Flint’s mouth was against his own again and blindly he melted into the kiss.

\----------------------

James broke away altogether from Billy and hastily went over to the dresser. Billy panted loudly behind him.

“What—”

James poured fresh water from a pitcher into the bowl and set it on the bedside table. With a flick of his wrist he motioned for Billy. Billy came over at once, his eyes distracted over both James’s face and his cock. James looked at the bulge in Billy’s pants. He took Billy’s wrist and dunked his fingers into the water, then guided Billy’s hand around his backside.

“I want you to take me,” he said. It had been less difficult to admit than he thought it would be. Perhaps because he was so certain, at last, that his bosun wanted him that way. The entire night James had been less than convinced of it, right up until their spat outside.

He knew Billy could have done exactly what he explained he could do, what he claimed he wanted to do; he could have attacked James out there under the cover of darkness, stabbed him and killed him. He had revealed the depths of a different desire instead.

James relied on that revelation now as he guided Billy’s fingers to his cleft. Billy needed no further encouragement and quickly found his rim, teasing around it. His half-lidded eyes found James’s.

“You really want this? Want *me*?” he asked.

There was an emphasis on the word and James hesitated only for a second before nodding, his thumb coming to touch Billy’s bottom lip.

“Only if you still want me,” he said.

Billy’s lips closed over his thumb as his middle finger pushed its way into his rim. James inhaled sharply at the sensation and the quick burn that followed. Water wasn’t nearly as good as a true lubricant, but he supposed Billy would just have to work at it. His chest fluttered at the thought.

James spread his legs, giving Billy easier access. He could feel Billy’s ridiculous arm muscles working as he pressed and wriggled his finger in further. James tried hard to control his breathing, but Billy was also sucking on his thumb, his eyes wide and fixated on watching him. How did he look? A wave of self consciousness took him and he felt his face redden, but Billy had taken up the bowl of water and sprinkled it down his cleft with his other hand. James clenched as the coolness of it hit his sensitive skin but it quickly warmed under Billy’s touch. Billy’s finger writhed up inside him, coming close to his spot. James took his thumb out of Billy’s mouth and pressed his lips there instead, unable to otherwise express what the bosun was doing to him.

\---------------------

Billy added a second finger. James was incredibly tight and not for the first time Billy wondered how long it had been since he’d been with another man, or with anyone for that matter. He had driven himself half mad thinking about Miranda Barlow. He knew she and Flint were a couple, but their relationship seemed strained to him in the brief time she’d been aboard the Spanish warship. It was yet another mystery of Flint. Now, however, even in the heat of growing passion a few things were coming into focus. Flint liked men, so perhaps that was the reason the two of them had seemed distant from one another?

He couldn’t think on it anymore because Flint was breathing heavy and clutching his arm as Billy pushed two fingers far up into him. James’s fingers gripped his upper arms almost painfully, then they would relax when Billy slowed his movements. Billy decided a different position was needed. He withdrew his fingers and nodded at the bed.

“On your knees. And bend over,” he said. Shit, it had sounded like an order. Was he allowed to do that?

Flint didn’t seem to notice. He complied quickly and Billy realized he probably thought he was going to fuck him now. Didn’t he care he wasn’t quite ready?

In truth Billy considered it, but found he really did not want to risk hurting Flint. He could punch the shit out of him, but to cause pain in this way made him frown.

He dipped his fingers in the water again and came up to the edge of the bed, where Flint was bent over, his rump to Billy, like the most delicious whore Billy had ever seen. He still found himself wondering if this were really happening. His cock ached pleasantly at the sight when Flint arched his back just enough to give a sensual curve to his spine, ass exposed. His dark cleft shimmered slightly with the water on it.

“Fuck,” Billy muttered. His fingers found James’s hole again and this time he could press in quicker. He pressed both fingers in and moaned when James tightened and hissed, but then he whimpered.

“Billy…”

Billy hummed at the sound of his name, spoken in a raw tone. He pressed his fingers hard into Flint, making sloppy circles and causing Flint to clutch at the bed sheets and arch his back even more. The burning must have stopped and now he was feeling only the pleasure.

“Look at me,” Billy heard himself say.

Flint twisted so that he could see Billy. The captain looked drunk, with heavy eyes and wet, parted lips. When he raised his eyes to look at Billy through his brow Billy felt his stomach flip. It was a look he loved, even though it was almost always used in sudden anger. Now, seeing Flint wear that expression under the haze of lust made Billy all the more impatient. Good God, how he wanted Flint.

“Almost ready,” he said. He focused on Flint’s ass, watching his fingers pump him over and over. Flint finally let out a moan, still watching him.

“Billy, please.”

Billy removed his fingers and rubbed them up and down his cleft, then thrust back in again. Each time he did his cock twitched. He was dragging this out but he couldn’t help it. Vaguely he wondered if the feeling was similar to an addiction of some sort. Did drunkards or opium addicts feel this way under the influence, or did they at least think they did? But this was no illusion for him. He pumped Flint until his cleft was wet with his own juices and his hole was wide and loose.

“God damnit,” Flint said with weak anger.

“All right,” said Billy, feeling more aroused than ever at the captain’s complete and utter helplessness. He motioned for Flint to scoot up and give him room on the bed. Flint did and Billy kneeled behind him, legs pressed against his own as he fisted his cock and lined it up. With his other hand on Flint’s ass he pushed himself in.

\-----------------------

“Nuuuhh.”

James tried to stifle the noise that escaped him as Billy’s cock entered him. The shock of the contact sent a bolt of heat through him, pooling in his stomach and cock and nearly taking his breath away. Billy muttered sweet curses behind him but stilled and let James catch his breath. He made tiny, barely noticeable movements as though testing the waters.

“Fuck, ” said James. He was reduced to a heated mess of nerves, unable to articulate himself. Jesus, when had that happened? Then he recalled his first time with Thomas. They had both been that way, hadn’t they?

Billy gently pulled out and pushed in again, thrusting this time. Another, smaller heat wave went through James. He had forgotten this. How good it felt to be filled up, to be penetrated by another man.

Billy started a pace, shifting slightly and putting both hands on his ass, fingertips finding their way to the front of James’s pelvis. He pulled on James and in response James pushed back into Billy. Billy’s cock felt indescribable inside him, thick and warm and so fucking hard. Whatever happened between them after this he decided it would all be worth it.

Billy paused again, pulling out altogether. The sudden dearth James felt almost made him groan.

“Lie all the way down,” said Billy.

He must have lost all ability to reason, because James did so without question. In all other aspects of their relationship he still didn’t trust Billy, except that in *this*, he found he did.

James had an inkling what Billy was about so he propped himself up on his elbows and arms. He spread his legs, slightly bent at the knees. Billy moved into position over top him and took him. This time his cock slid easily into James and the return of the hardness and warmth caused him to shudder.

Billy pressed his body flush against James’s back so that James could feel every tight muscle in Billy, even the texture of his hard nipples. Billy started pumping him again. He sneaked his arm underneath James’s and threaded their fingers together. All James had to do was to turn his head slightly and there was Billy, lips meeting his own again. Billy pushed into him and just like that their dance became like art.

He had expected Billy to fuck him, but not like this.

\-----------------------

Billy decided this was exactly what an addict must feel like with their fix.

Flint had actually let him dominate. He thought for certain that Flint was going to take him, but when Flint had dipped his fingers in the water and had guided them to his cleft, Billy had almost thought it a cruel tease. But no, like some sexual baptism, he had wanted Billy to take control.

Now, with his body pressed against his captain’s and his cock pleasantly aching inside him Billy wondered vaguely what price he would have to pay for this immense pleasure. Whether it would be by Flint’s hand or Fate’s he didn’t know, only that he should cling tight to what was happening now because tomorrow—as always— was like a fog, concealing everything. He could die tomorrow. Flint could die tomorrow, although that seemed unlikely, he thought with a smirk.

Maybe that was why he decided to move in close to Flint, pressing their bodies together and wrapping his arm around Flint’s. Maybe that was why he needed to feel Flint as much as possible, to have his cheek touching Flint’s coppery beard, to kiss him as his cock pumped him.

It frightened him, how much he was needing this.

Flint kept his head raised, his lips parted and huffing out breaths that grew more and more strained. His hand clung to Billy’s and quite suddenly this was not fucking anymore to Billy. It was something else.

Flint bucked up into him softly, moaning and trying with his limited movements to press into Billy harder. His hot breath, partially sweet and partially with the sour tang of liquor, panted into Billy’s own mouth. Jesus, Flint felt so fucking good under him. When he bucked hard into Flint, Flint’s breathing became a series of soft grunts. Eventually he untangled their limbs so he could brace himself and fuck harder. Even then, however, it seemed as though they were in some sort of harmony with one another. Billy felt urgency but not haste; he felt his own intensity but more than pure lust. He felt Flint’s heat engulf him; his own heat engulf him.

His cock ached so badly. Flint was wide open now; he wouldn’t be hurt if Billy picked up the pace. He pushed into Flint hard. The sounds of his balls hitting against Flit’s ass and his own rutting noises filled his ears, along with the small sounds coming from Flint below him.

He let Flint shift so he could reach underneath him and grab his own cock. He began pulling at it wildly.

“Yes,” said Billy, his voice sounding far away to him. “Come for me, please.”

Flint said nothing but kept jerking himself, muttering curses. He alternated between screwing his eyes shut and opening them to look at Billy and Billy knew he was as close as he was to orgasm.

\---------------------

James could barely stand it.

Billy had reduced him to a quivering mass of pure need. His whole being seemed to call out for his release as glorious waves of pleasure ripped through him, the pressure building to a boil inside him. Billy was slamming into him and when James managed to glance over at him his whole body glistened with sweat, face flushed and eyes completely dilated and fixed on him.

Then he felt it wash over him, exploding from his stomach and his cock as his breath grew shorter and shorter and shorter. He felt the release shake his whole frame. Behind him Billy slowed his thrusts and by the time James had shook the come from his cock he felt Billy spasm inside him, letting out a keening moan. He pushed his cock deep inside James and James felt his release. He turned his head and raised his hand, blindly searching for Billy. Billy’s face was there and he kissed Billy hard, forcing Billy to whimper into his mouth.

Then Billy pulled away and slid out of him. He rolled over and leaned on his elbows, out of breath. Neither one of them spoke as they caught their breaths and cleaned up. For one insane minute James thought about staying unclothed and lying next to Billy, but he was already pulling on his pants. Billy was up and doing the same. Had he been expecting something else to follow?

“Thank you,” he said when they were dressed. He looked awkwardly up at Billy. It sounded stupid but he was at a loss. Despite his obvious physical release Billy looked less than satisfied. He nodded. Behind Billy and off to the side James saw a decanter of rum.

“Can I make you a drink before you go?” he offered.

Billy followed his gaze to the bottle and then to the door. James realized he actually wanted Billy to stay.

“Please,” he added in a low voice.

Billy looked at him and slowly nodded.

“Sure.”

\-----------------------

They each had a drink, finishing them in silence that seemed to drag on. It was almost funny to Billy. Eight fucking years together and after one night of sex they were both speechless. What the fuck did that mean for Flint? Billy mulled and twisted and pulled at the question in his mind, wishing he could simply ask it. At this point he figured he probably could and it wouldn’t offend the other man, but then Billy realized the answer would be a half-truth at best. No, Flint had only ever opened himself up to one other soul in recent days, and that was John Silver.

He must have made a face because Flint shifted and asked him, “Everything all right?”

Caught in the middle of his thoughts Billy was unable to hold himself in check.

“Just thinking about you and Silver is all.”

“What do you mean?”

Billy shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure,” he replied at length. “It’s just, I know the two of you have built a rapport recently, something I never imagined would ever happen. I thought you’d have killed him by now.”

At that Flint grinned broadly and Billy felt delighted for an instant.

“Yes, I would have agreed with you,” said James, leaning back in the chair and twisting his glass around in his hands. “But you must admit he’s come a long way since we first laid eyes on him. Especially considering what he went through in Charlestown, and then giving up his share of the gold. It’s remarkable, really.”

Billy’s lack of comfort was shifting with each word the captain spoke, until it turned into anger. He snorted.

“That’s the most you’ve spoken all night. I didn’t realize our quartermaster was such an interesting topic.”

The words were laced with venom. Billy frowned at himself. Flint’s grin faded.

“I only meant he’s proven himself as a valuable asset to this crew,” he replied. “True, he still isn’t the most knowledgeable sailor, and the leg is proving difficult, but he’s getting better with it…”

“Of course he is,” Billy snapped. “He’s got you to pick him up every time he falls. I wonder what the Queen’s daughter would think of that.”

Now James’s eye twitched, his jaw tight. Billy could read the signs of his captain’s own anger well. He smirked. It felt good to be able to make him feel it.

“Silver said it was you who pushed him to talk to me, to become friendly with me,” said Flint, sitting up in the chair. “And now here you are, complaining about him now that I have?”

There was clear confusion in his voice, which only made Billy even more aggravated. He jumped up from his chair and gripped the edge of the small round table between them.

“It’s not Silver I’m complaining about,” he said, trying to stay calm. “I did push for the two of you to get closer, I just never imagined it would actually happen. I never thought you would start to confide in him. You do realize this gives him power over you, don’t you?”

Flint’s eyebrows ticked, lips slightly parted. He looked baffled. Billy was about to continue, to tell Flint more about why being too close to Silver was a bad idea, when Flint rose slowly.

“You’re jealous,” he said softly.

Billy felt a sting in his chest.

“Fuck you,” he said, turning to leave. Halfway to the door he stopped and whirled around. James hadn’t moved. Only his eyes had, fixated on Billy and looking stuck somewhere between confusion and anger. Billy didn’t like the look. If anything he didn’t want Flint to be confused, not when this night had cleared at least some of the air between them. To leave in anger now would erase their progress.

“Maybe I am jealous,” he said evenly. “I know you’re not fucking him,” he added impatiently when Flint looked like he was about to jump to his own defense. Billy slowly turned fully to face him, arms loosely crossed again. He always felt awkward when Flint’s full attention was on him even though he wanted it.

\----------------------

James tried to process this new information. Billy Bones was jealous of Silver, but he knew they weren’t intimate with one another. James couldn’t focus while looking at Billy so he instead walked over to the room’s only shuttered window and opened it. Billy remained quiet.

There was a small breeze that blew in. The inn was far enough away from the beach that the breeze was very small but at least it was cool in the late hour. James wanted to gulp it in. The room had become small and stifling to him. He inhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose as he realized Billy’s meaning. He wasn’t fucking Silver, but there was no denying the two of them were still intimate. The things James had confessed to him…the things John had confessed…and Billy, as keen as ever, had sensed far more than he’d actually been privy to. James thought of all the times in recent weeks that Billy had acted hostile towards him.

He inhaled again, wishing he was standing on a ship deck with the gentle swaying under his feet to calm him. Still staring out into the night, he cleared his throat.

“I’ve told Mr. Silver several things,” he began. “Personal matters, it’s true. I’ve come to trust him, and he trusts me, and I know that you and I never had that relationship.”

James dared to turn around. Billy had moved to the table again. In the candlelight and despite his hulking form he looked incredibly fragile to James, as if a single push or shove might cause him to crack in some invisible way. Jesus Christ. James swallowed hard. No, no, he could not do this, couldn’t let it happen with Billy. But the floodgates were already opened between them and what could he do but let the violent current pull him along?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For never giving us that opportunity. It took a long time for me even to trust Mr. Gates with just a small amount of personal things. And when you came aboard…well, let’s just say that having conversations about strategy and plunder and shares wasn’t the first thing on my mind.”

Billy looked directly at him, the candlelight making two white pinpricks in his eyes dance and drawing James like a siren’s call. If that knowledge surprised the bosun, he hid it well.

“Let me just ask you then,” said Billy. He came around the table and drew himself up but didn’t approach him.

“Can’t you trust me like you do him? You know I’d hold your confidence just as well…”

James licked his lips.

“Billy, it’s not that. I know you would be trustworthy. But I need you to understand.”

James moved towards him, desperate for strength so he could speak the words that ripped through his conscious.

“I’m not the same man I was. I’ve lost so much. Too much. Billy, there’s nothing left to love with me.”

It felt like glass shards were in his throat. They spread out and stabbed him cruelly when Billy’s face fell, the light in his eyes turning liquid.

“No,” said Billy. “That’s a lie.”

He came forward and James backtracked, holding a hand out. He clenched his teeth together.

“Billy please…just leave me be. Please. Don’t make me beg. Tonight was truly wonderful, but that’s all we could ever have. You must know that.”

He repeated the words over and over to himself, *you must know that. *

\--------------------

Billy wanted to rage. He wanted to throw the table over and throw a temper tantrum like a fucking child and say *no, you bloody fool, you’re wrong, you’re so fucking wrong! Why are you torturing yourself?!*

He couldn’t stand the look on Flint’s face. There was so much pain there and coupled with the fact he knew Flint wanted him…it was overwhelming. It was as though the man were a walking schism. It was no wonder he’d become so self destructive. Billy wanted to weep for him as much as he wanted to believe that he was strong enough to chase all of his captain’s demons away once and for all. And why shouldn’t he? Why the hell did John fucking Silver get that responsibility? Silver, who had lied and manipulated his way onto the Walrus, who had done nothing but cause trouble for so long.

*No, stop it. That’s not helping. Not the same Silver, not anymore.*

It was too much. Billy spun away and marched to the door, leaving the room and not bothering to even shut it. He hurried out of the building as fast as could without running and back into the night. As he walked along the dirt road he let his head drop, the tears coming up hot. He walked towards the beach, biting his tongue until he reached the cluster of trees he and Flint had fought in earlier.

Away from everyone and all light he slid down a tree trunk and buried his head in his arms, fighting back his sobs. He dug his blunt nails into his palms until it hurt. He was so fucking mad. He kept telling himself that’s all it was. He thought of every vile name he could think of to call Flint, that selfish prick.

Gradually he calmed down, realizing he was too exhausted to maintain his anger. It would be light in a few hours, no doubt. He couldn’t sleep here. He stood and trudged down to the shoreline where there were always lazy pirates who left their launches randomly staked on the beach for days at a time. He crawled inside one and fell into a frazzled sleep.

\----------------------

At sea

 

They were in the heart of the tradewinds as the Walrus and her crew worked their way back to New Providence. It was turning into mid-summer, and James was thankful for the constant breeze in the otherwise tropical air. Even so there was no respite from the cloudless sky and hot sun and he still sweated through his shirt. The crew were relatively happy, however; they’d had their fill of whores and had managed to stock up well before leaving Turks and Caicos. They more than likely would need only one stop-over before reaching home.

Yet not having to worry about crew morale meant that James had more time to think on Billy.

Silver sensed something was troubling him, but James made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it so instead the quartermaster tried to speak about other things for distraction. James was thankful for that as well, but it was only temporary relief. He still had to see Billy on a daily basis, watch him talk to the rigging crew or climb the ratlines or check on the rigging himself or pause to eat a bit of jerky or fruit or to see his back as he took a piss off the port bow railing.

For his part Billy seemed to be trying to ignore him just as much. James blamed himself for how their eyes kept meeting. They were always fleeting glances but each time it happened James felt himself quicken.

By the time they reached the halfway point to New Providence Billy, DeGroot, and Silver had convinced the men the ship was in need of careening. James had been the first to sense when his vessel had started to slow down. He knew the dangers of woodworm and had told the others. It would delay their arrival to Nassau by a week or more but it was important.

He reminded himself of that fact as he helped set up camp on the shore, trying to ignore his bosun, who was hammering in stakes to a tent and working with his shirt twisted around his head, bare-chested.

The day was hot and by noon everyone had grown sluggish. James ordered them to rest until the worst of the midday heat had passed. He had helped guide them through hauling the Walrus up onto the beach, and even without doing much manual labor the task was exhausting. He went to his tent, passing Billy a few yards away, who always worked past noon no matter the heat. Billy was double checking the ropes that held the massive ship in place. He did nothing to acknowledge James, though James knew perfectly well he saw him.

Feeling defeated, James reached his tent and plopped down on the ground, back against a pole. He doused himself in water and changed shirts. He chewed on a biscuit. His eyes returned to the bosun and lingered there. The heat was oppressive enough and he should rest but instead he spent the time gazing on what he could never have.

\-------------------------

Once he’d checked all the ropes and had joined DeGroot in making sure they had the right tools for the careening in order, Billy spent the rest of the afternoon sharpening his blades. He laid down for a few minutes, hoping for a nap, but when he closed his eyes, a pair of pale jade eyes danced before him, along with a soft copper beard and dark, reddish-brown hair. Billy sat up abruptly, teeth clenched, and went back to sharpening. Fuck Flint.

He repeated the phrase over and over again like a mantra. Perhaps he really ought to consider changing crews. He winced at that thought even as it went through his mind. Flint would understand but the rest of the crew would not. True, he cared less about them than he often professed; there were only a handful of members left he still could call mates, but that was part of his job, was it not? And then there was Silver…

Billy let out an angry huff and flipped his short sword over, running the stone over it. He hated to admit to himself that he liked John Silver as well as any of the crew did. He had no logical reason to *dis*like the man. Silver had made the crew stronger in more ways than one and had even managed the impossible task of keeping Flint in line. Billy clenched his jaw. And Flint had accepted him, had trusted him, even after Silver had admitted to betrayal.

*Flint and Ms. Barlow were going to betray us all, you fool,* he reminded himself. *And you’ve stayed by Flint’s side all this time. Until recently.*

Billy roughly tossed the whetstone to the ground and dropped the blade.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He’d betrayed Flint as well. He’d more or less gone behind Flint’s back with his own plan for Nassau, using Silver as his golden idol. He’d been angry. So very angry at Flint. And hurt.

The two feelings were attached to him like sticky syrup, impossible to get rid of. Fuck Flint.

Billy’s lips twitched. He was restless. He got word some of the men had found a water hole not far from the beach; a lagoon with fresh water. The men went running to it, stripping their clothes off gleefully. Billy came out of his tent and patrolled the beach, waiting until the bulk of them had taken their turn bathing and filling their jugs and canteens with water. He watched Flint emerge from his tent and speak to Silver. No doubt he was telling the quartermaster to make certain they re-filled the ship’s water supply before they left the island. Silver did lots of nodding. Billy sneered. It wasn’t right, he knew, for jealousy to keep rearing its ugly head. Flint had never indicated he wanted anything more with John. He had seemed hurt when Billy had brought it up back at the inn. And yet Billy’s restlessness only grew as he watched the two of them converse from a distance.

Once Silver limped away, he watched Flint make his way into the woods and towards the lagoon. Billy found himself following after him. He passed several men returning from the area, drenched and clearly feeling refreshed and ready to start careening. He kept his distance until he and Flint had reached a clearing where the lagoon was.

The body of water had a tiny current and looked fresh. He went to its edge and splashed his face and arms. Flint was doing the same a short distance down from Billy. Two more men lingered in the lagoon before emerging and leaving just the two of them there. Billy stayed squatted, realizing that Flint couldn’t see him over the reeds and bushes. He watched as James started undressing, removing his boots and socks and then his belt and pants and lastly his shirt until he was fully nude.

Billy bit back a noise, his heart thudding in his ears. This was different than seeing his captain by candle and moonlight in a dimly lit room. Here, out in the open and with plenty of sunlight, James Flint’s body was an amazing mass of milky skin and muscle and freckles that densely populated his back and shoulders, gradually tapering off. His thighs were broad and thick and his ass was dimpled. Billy swallowed hard, feeling his cock growing hard between his legs. Flint turned slightly to step into the lagoon, revealing his soft penis and muscled stomach.

Billy realized he was clutching a fistful of reeds that were cutting into his hand. He released them, trying his damndest not to let Flint arouse him and failing miserably at it. There was no way to simply cut it off, to blow out the match on his desires.

Billy screwed his eyes shut until it hurt. He wanted Flint, wanted him despite Flint’s earlier rejection, wanted him despite how fucked up of a man Flint was, wanted him because he now knew it was within the realm of possibilities, even if it wasn’t within the realm of good, sound reason.

\---------------------

James sighed into the water, wading out to see how deep it was. It came up to his neck when he reached its center. It was cool but not cold, having been shaded from the tropical sun by the tall trees and broad, waxy leaves that made up most of the vegetation. He dunked his head under and began scrubbing himself with the dwindling bar of soap he’d brought with him; a small luxury out at sea.

He turned around when he heard the water splashing around behind him. No one save for one man was there, making his way out into the lagoon. Flint turned in time to see his bosun’s lower half disappear into the water, taunt and tanned muscles gleaming in the dappled sunlight.

James tensed. Billy was making his way towards him. Fuck. He wasn’t ready for another conversation and certainly not another argument. Mostly he didn’t want to see the hurt in Billy’s eyes.

“A bit of luck, finding this, huh?” said Billy once he was close enough.

James nodded, deciding to take up the neutral conversation. “The men needed it. It will keep them patient while we clean the ship.”

He expected Billy to cut to the chase, but Billy merely nodded at him, coming closer until they were both up to their necks. He dunked his head under and rose up, wiping at his eyes and meeting James’s gaze. James opened his mouth, feeling his pulse quicken. No. He should move away and finish up washing. But then Billy moved in closer, too close, until their noses were inches apart.

“Billy, please,” said James as everything began to rise up in him, hot and oppressive, pricking him in his chest.

“Are you going to turn me away a second time?”

Billy spoke the words as though walking on glass, his dark eyes like two abused black pearls, battered and beaten yet back for more. James heard his own breathing. Billy moved closer. The black pearls fluttered down to James’s lips and then Billy was kissing him. James opened his mouth without a second thought.

Billy kissed him again with more fire, teeth and tongue right there. James moved the rest of himself closer to him inch by inch, though neither of them had lifted a hand to the other yet. James didn’t know what to make of it. Billy wasn’t lost in some spell of lust as he had been at the inn. He seemed rigid somehow. James went with it, kissing as he was kissed, until he felt Billy’s fingers touching him under the water, finding his chest and his nipples and eventually pulling James to him.

James moved in until their bodies were flush against one another. Even with the density of the lagoon between them James could feel Billy’s cock against his belly.. He moaned, then jerked himself away.

“No. We cannot do this…”

“We are. We already have,” said Billy, panting.

He pulled James to him more forcefully, then pushed him towards the beach. James offered more weak protests it felt futile. Billy had somehow managed to exert some control over him. He was reminded of how like a magnet Thomas had been to him, of how the pull was too strong to deny and too hard to break. In every other aspect of life James could resist temptation just as easily as he could coerce others into it, but when it came to this, this raw and primitive and profound Thing inside him that cried out for attention…no, he could neither deny nor break its hold over him.

Not unless he wanted to kill Billy.

James pushed Captain Flint away. There would be none of that.

They made it stumbling out of the water, tangled in each other’s naked limbs. Billy grew more forceful, grabbing and scraping his blunt nails over James’s back and ribs. His kisses became hard. When James reached for his cock Billy roughly slapped him away and pushed him back. His fingers went to James’s cleft and pushed in so suddenly James’s breath caught and he gasped.

Billy sucked hard at his neck, his body stilling itself against James’s as his fingers worked to open him. He was impatient. James winced, spreading his legs even as Billy grew too impatient. His cock was rock hard against Billy’s leg. Billy finally opened him and pushed through, wiggling his fingers and making James moan. James curled his fingers around Billy’s neck were his lips had also stilled against his cooling skin as Billy put everything into opening him up.

“You can slow down,” James huffed out.

Billy let out a low moan that sounded as though he were a dying man and it frightened him. Ignoring his request Billy’s fingers worked fast, sending sharp bolts of pleasure and pain through James. James clung to Billy’s shoulders, rubbing his cock helplessly against Billy’s thigh. He should stop this, right now. He knew he could. Billy knew he could.

Instead he moaned again as Billy pumped his fingers into him until he felt himself grow wet. Then at last Billy’s face reappeared. He was flushed and his eyes were pitch black and heavy but his jaw was clenched.

“Hands and knees,” he grunted. It was a command. James heard it as clear as day. Yet he obeyed, spreading himself out right there on the muddy sand. Billy’s hands took his legs and positioned them in a very mechanical way James’s didn’t care for. Then Billy’s cock was pressing into his cleft, demanding entry. He curled his fingers into the mud as Billy’s hand clenched his ass, spreading him and pushing his cock in. He pressed in hard and fast and left James gasping for air, his body pulsing like lava. After just a few practice thrusts Billy set up a punishing pace, slamming hard into James to where he could scarcely breathe.

Billy’s hands gripped his thighs painfully, his own breath turning into grunts as he rutted into James. Billy was *pissed,* and he was letting him know. And why the hell shouldn’t he?

“Oh fuck,” James moaned. Saliva fell from his mouth. He pushed his rear up into Billy’s cock and did his best to buck into it. Yes, this was what he deserved.

And even as James felt his own ire at Billy rising, it was too blurred with his desires for it to even matter.

He moaned again, listening as Billy’s breathing took on a more frantic pattern. His cock twitched at the sound. He reached down and jerked it. Everything was too much, too fast.

“Tell me to stop,” said Billy. “Tell me you’ll kill me if I don’t stop.”

James’s mind reeled. Jesus Christ. He could not.

“Don’t stop,” he choked out, fucking his cock in his hand and squeezing his eyes shut.

Billy shuddered against him and took up pounding him, cock penetrating him deep and causing James to quiver and throb all over until come was shooting out of his cock and he let out a strangled cry.

Billy kept fucking him, rolling his hips until James looked over his shoulder and saw the bosun’s face contort and he felt Billy’s seed spill inside him. With a groan Billy pulled out of him and shook his cock over James’s back, spurts of come sliding over his skin. When he was done he backed away from James, pushing himself off of James’s back as though he were a piece of furniture.

James struggled to breathe, to blink, to think. He turned over and sat down in the muddy sand, legs like jelly.

“See?” said Billy. “It’s just sex. That’s all you wanted, wasn’t it? A good fuck or two?”

James was taken aback, but even Billy’s hateful tone couldn’t completely disguise the bosun’s hurt, not to him.

“Billy, please, I—“

Billy venomously shook his head, staggering slightly as he backed away.

“No. You told me no *after* we fucked. Could have spared me the humiliation. So it is what it is, I suppose. Was this how it was like with *Miranda?*” he spat.

James flinched and looked away. He had been prepared for many things, but not that. The inkling of complicated and painful truth to the answer of Billy’s question hit him like a bullet. It was hateful and, coming from Billy, it hurt.

Billy saw that he’d hit his mark. There were tears in his eyes as he turned and stalked away. James stood and watched him collect his clothes and march off. Everything swayed around him and he closed his eyes, hand coming to cradle his brow.

\--------------

The careening was the only thing that kept Billy from drinking himself into a stupor.

For the remainder of their time on the island he kept mostly to himself. He lingered after suppertime to listen to the men’s jokes and stories but his thoughts were far away.

He caught Silver eyeing him more than once and knew that the other man would approach before too much longer to try and pull some truth from him.

Flint’s time overseeing the cleaning of his ship dwindled after their last encounter, until it was DeGroot and Silver manning the operations. When at last the Walrus was deemed ship-shape again Billy helped get her on her belly in the water. The men had a final go at the lagoon—those who actually cared about not smelling, anyway—and then they set sail.

Billy was grateful to be back in the water and to fall into his routine. Flint did exactly as he had predicted, which was to shut himself up in his cabin and stay there as often as he could. Bitterly Billy enjoyed the fact that the captain was upset—but again those feelings kneeled before the greater need to go to him and apologize for his monstrous behavior, to get on his knees and beg.

If he thought long enough on it, he wanted to beg forgiveness for more than just that, but what exactly, Billy couldn’t be sure. Yet he couldn’t shake the thought that there was a reason other than those Flint had given for the unresolved tension that had stretched between them for so many years.

What had made James Flint so hesitant to approach him in the first place? Billy knew better than to think that a man like Flint would be bothered by societal rules, and if there was a Hell they would all be going there regardless. What would relations between men matter? The way Billy saw it, that item was far down on the rung of sins (a word he didn’t believe in anyway).

So what had he done—or not done—to make Flint hide himself from him?

The question plagued him until he thought it might burn a brand into the back of his skull.

They sailed for several days and were past the halfway point to New Providence when they came upon a Spanish merchant ship. By that time Billy was aching for a way to release his pent up tension. Flint ordered the chase, no fucks given as usual.

The captain of the other ship didn’t surrender at first, but all it took was to fire a set of swivel guns and to raise Flint’s banner and it was over. Billy treated the Spanish crew rougher than usual. They cowered before him, dressed as he was with no shirt and smeared in black ash and tar. They practically trembled as his eyes swept over them, cutlass at the ready.

Billy had almost forgotten Flint, until Flint came out of a storage room and brushed past him, evidently not knowing it was Billy until their eyes met.

\-------------

James rubbed his thumb over the side of the glass, watching a few tiny bubbles swim through the greenish liquid inside. He took a second drink of the stuff. It tasted like licorice and made his nose wrinkle, but like most things in life he knew if he kept it up he would get used to it.

A distinctive light rapping on his door let him know his quartermaster was on the other side.

“Come.”

Silver made his way to the chair opposite his captain’s and sat down with only a minimal amount of discomfort from his leg, stretching it out before him. He saw James’s drink and crinkled his brow.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Something from the French. The Spanish apothecary from the prize ship called it absinthe. Said it gives a different drinking experience than rum.”

“It’s fucking green, for starters,” said Silver, lifting the bottle of it for closer inspection. His eyes flitted to James.

“May I?”

Looking bemused, James nodded. Silver raised the bottle to his lips and took a swallow. He coughed and sputtered and sat it back down beside James’s glass with finality.

“I’ll stick with the rum, thank you.”

James managed a grin at him before he sighed and stared back into his glass.

“I’m sure you know what it is I wish to discuss,” said Silver after a beat. James lifted his eyes.

John seemed to be waiting for a reply, but when none was forthcoming he shifted in the chair, leaning forward and running a hand over his beard, a habit he’d picked up from his captain.

“I noticed both you and Billy rather moody the last couple of weeks. I didn’t think much of it, but now the crew is beginning to notice that something is off with both of you. Naturally I began to…observe things, as it were.”

James’s mouth ticked up in a dark smile.

“John Silver, ship spy. Hard at work,” he said.

Silver’s expression remained steadfast.

“The rest of the crew may think it merely coincidence that the two of you seem disagreeable as of late. God knows there’s enough men on any given ship that at least a handful of them are always pissed at something.”

“But you know better.”

“You know that I know better.”

James heaved out a sigh. He considered pushing the absinthe away from him. Instead he took another drink, sucking on his lips as he grew accustomed to the licorice flavor. He was beginning to feel its effects.

“Billy and I have a few unresolved issues between us,” he said, slouching back into his chair, arm stretched out over his desk to touch his glass.

“Would any of these issues—or perhaps all of them—be of an *intimate* nature?” Silver probed.

James marveled at how carefully he chose his words. But the absinthe was working on him and he wasn’t in the mood to be coy with John, not after recent events and the talk they’d had the night before the first battle against Rogers.

“You’re asking about my feelings,” he said flatly.

In response John gave quick lift of his brow.

James took another drink before he spoke.

“I thought I could put it all behind me, tuck it away somewhere after Thomas. I was wrong.”

The silence that followed his words caused them to tumble back on him tenfold and he felt his throat clench up. Fuck. He steeled himself and fixed a steady gaze on John, willing him to understand without further probing.

John was looking at him the way he had been that night around the fire, his eyes liquid and threatening to undo James. Fuck, fuck.

“I’d like to be alone, if you don’t mind,” he said, sitting up only to hunker over the desk, clutching the glass of absinthe around his hands.

\-------------

Billy muttered out a curse when he saw Silver waiting for him as he climbed down the ratline from the mainmast.

“A bit late for a rigging check, isn’t it?” he mused as Billy jumped the last few feet to the deck. The sun had just set, leaving everything in a dark lavender hue.

“Yea, but I wanted to anyway,” he grunted, moving towards the hatch that led to the bunks below deck. Silver thudded beside him, moving to block him before Billy could open the hatch.

“I think you ought to visit the captain,” he said.

Billy rolled his eyes.

“What for?”

“He requested your presence. Something about preliminary plans for when we return to Nassau. He seemed a bit distracted, though.”

Billy fixed Silver with a disapproving gaze, frowning at the quartermaster.

“That the only reason?,” he asked.

Silver raised an eyebrow at him.

“As I said, the captain wishes to speak to you.”

And with that Silver bent down and opened the hatch himself, descending the steep stairs almost as smoothly as a man with two good legs.

\--------------

Billy stood behind both the desk and the chair across from Flint, arms tight across his chest. Flint always used to invite him to sit, but Billy had always preferred to stand in the captain’s cabin. At first it had been because it felt more appropriate to discuss important ship matters that way, then later because Billy’s attraction to Flint somehow made him feel extra uncomfortable when he sat down in that chair, as though he should be relaxed when he felt anything but.

Now Flint didn’t bother asking him to sit. Instead he looked up from his glass and eyed him like a fox in the henhouse.

“Can I help you?”

Billy noted the glassy look in Flint’s eyes. He’d been drinking for some time, apparently.

“Silver said you wanted to speak to me. About plans for returning home.”

Flint’s eyes narrowed and he scoffed, emerging from his hunkered position only to lean back into the chair and look up at Billy.

“I said no such thing,” he said, sounding tired.

“That little shit,” Billy muttered. “I’ll go then. Sorry to bother you.”

“Stay.”

Billy hesitated. He couldn’t tell if that had been an invitation or a command. Flint rarely got drunk, but the few times he had Billy had found him even more unreadable than usual, except for the sorrow that he let hang from his face that confounded Billy and made him want to ask what was wrong.

The sorrow was on Flint’s face now, making him look older than he was. He felt his heartstrings being pulled and he sought to yank them back as he chose to sit down in the chair. Fuck if he knew why.

Flint followed his movements with languid but attentive eyes. He motioned at the bottle before him. It looked like a wine bottle, but the captain’s drink was some strange shade of green.

“Looks like it’s gone bad,” said Billy.

A twitch of a smile under the beard.

“No. The French call it the green fairy, or some shit. Tastes like licorice.”

Billy’s lip curled but he nodded anyway. Flint poured him a glass and slid it over to him. He was right. The stuff was disgusting but left an odd tingle inside him.

“Miranda used to collect wine,” said Flint, staring down at his hands on the desktop and twirling the ring on his small finger.

“She had dozens and dozens of different kinds by the time I met her,” he continued.

Billy sat back in his chair and let out a controlled sigh. It would be one of *those* drinking nights, then.

“I had hardly drank wine before I met her and her husband,” said Flint. “I was, after all, middle class, and they were high born. I was used to ale and mead and rum. But the taste grew on me, after so many dinners with them.”

Billy waited, curious to know where this was going. He knew Flint always came around to a point, even half –lit.

“It was Thomas who got me started on brandy.” And Billy watched as Flint cracked a wide smile, teeth and all and it made Billy’s heart rejoice to see the gorgeous but all- too- rare smile.

“We would each have a small bit after lunch, and more after dinner if I was there all day. At first the visits were just a couple of hours, but by the end of that summer I was over there for as long as I could afford to stay without it becoming suspicious.”

At this Flint’s eyes flicked to his own and lingered as though there was a silent meaning there. Billy knew this game, too. Flint didn’t want to talk about whatever the hell he was talking about, so he wanted Billy to drag it out of him.

“Is that when you started…seeing Ms.—Miranda?”

Damn if that didn’t sound awkward, but luckily Flint only nodded.

“At first, she was the reason, yes.”

“At first?”

Flint poured another dose of the green stuff into his glass, clearly on a mission.

“You want me to trust you the way I trust Silver,” he said. “You want to know what I’ve told him about myself that I didn’t tell you.”

*And here it comes at last,* Billy thought. He sat forward in the chair, feeling his mouth go dry despite his drink.

“Yes,” he said.

Flint seemed to be studying him, brows furrowed, and Billy couldn’t tell if he was in the room or in some far-off place, studying something there instead. He cleared his throat, glassy eyes re-focusing somewhat.

“The night before the battle Silver and I sat around a fire away from camp, sharing a bottle of rum. He wanted to know in whose name this war was to be fought. I felt he deserved an answer, so I explained to him how I had also fallen in love with Miranda’s husband Thomas, whom I was trying to help create a plan to re-legitimize New Providence Island.”

Billy raised his glass and took and long drawl of the drink, feeling it burn all the way through him. He heard his pulse behind his ears.

“The three of us were happy together, for a brief time. *I* was happy, perhaps for the first time in my adult life. None of us gave a shit about it, either, Thomas least of all. Perhaps that was one small reason in the long line of reasons we all fell. But we were also betrayed by a friend. Thomas was taken away and Miranda and I were forced out of the country.”

Billy’s heart felt like it might pound right out of his chest. His mind spun around like a top, trying to digest this information. Some things made more sense now…and some even less.

“Wait, wait a moment.” He raised his hand to fend off further revelatory information.

“Is that what you did in the navy? Try to pull pirate-infested areas back to the crown?”

“Not areas. Just New Providence…”

“And you were doing it with Ms. Barlow’s husband, whom you had an affair with?”

His voice was rising in pitch and he struggled to control it.

“Yes,” Flint said, watching his every move.

“The three of you,” said Billy, eyes darting around the room, desperate for some invisible purchase to keep him from falling into the chasm. Good God, the irony of following Captain Flint to war against the British… Then his mind snapped to one particular thing Flint had just said. He rose from his chair, unable to bear sitting.

“You said Silver asked you *in whose name the war* is to be fought. And it wasn’t Miranda’s?”

“No.”

Billy swallowed hard.

“It was Thomas Hamilton?”

“Yes. That is what I told Silver. That is the critical piece of information about me that he possessed and you did not.”

Flint’s voice was hoarse and when Billy finally looked up at him he was shocked to see his left cheek glistening with a tear trail.

“And it’s all coming back, Billy,” he said, rising unsteadily out of his chair and fixing the bosun with that damned, magnetic look of his.

“Only now I am not the man I was then. And I don’t know if I can do this all over again. I don’t know how anymore. I know that’s not what you want to hear. And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Billy.”

Flint looked away from him, looking more tired than ever. Everything took on new meaning. All of Flint’s posturing, his silence about his past, it all meant *something* at last. That alone cooled the anger that still festered inside him, turned it to mush and propelled his feet around the desk. He took Flint’s glass from him and the bottle, re-corking it and putting it in a drawer.

“You should lie down,” he said softly. He was close enough to breathe in the scent of licorice and leather and salt and the intoxicating mix it created. He raised a thumb to Flint’s cheek and rubbed away the wetness there, not quite looking into those green eyes. Flint’s breath stuttered with the touch and it took every ounce of will power for Billy to step away, then to leave the cabin, closing the door softly behind him.

\--------------

Off Harbour Island

Billy was in a deep sleep when he was shaken awake. Groggily he thought it was one of the rigging crew come to tell him a line had broke; that was the only time he was ever woken in the middle of the night.

Instead it was John Silver’s face that loomed over his, thick curls brushing against his nose.

“Billy, you must come up top. Now,” Silver hissed urgently at him.

Billy rubbed his eyes and sat up in his hammock.

“The fuck’s the matter?” he mumbled, trying to shake off his sleep.

“It’s the captain,” said Silver. “He is bound and determined to take a launch to the shore, only he’s fucking smashed.”

Billy groaned. They had made it to Harbour Island, the closest they could come to New Providence without worrying about King George’s ships spotting them. There was still a terse stand-off going on between pirates and the redcoats, with both sides planning their next move. Teach, Flint, Madi, Silver, and Jack Rackham had all decided that Harbour Island would serve as an anchorage and meeting place. The handful or so of scattered farmers who had lived there had mostly left after Richard Guthrie’s death, leaving the place open for them.

The crew’s mood was less than ideal, without a proper town and brothel to go to, but there were already traders set up on the island so they were able to spend some coin regardless.

Now, the Walrus had little more than a skeleton crew sleeping on board, as most of them were on the beach, passed out drunk, Billy figured. He followed Silver up the stairs and to the main deck. There was Flint, attempting to use the pulleys by himself to lower a boat down the side of the ship. Billy cursed. He glanced quickly at Silver.

“I’ve got this. If anyone asks, tell the men he’s gone ashore to start mapping the interior out in case we need it during the war. They’ll buy it.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not going to bring him back to his cabin?”

“You really think I’m able to *make* him do anything?”

Silver conceded that with a frown.

“And what about *your* disappearance? If you’re not back before breakfast?” he asked. The look he gave Billy spoke volumes as to what he knew about their relationship.

Billy sighed. “Just...tell them I’m helping him. Make up a story. That’s what your good at,” he added, too harshly.

He felt Silver’s eyes on him as he went portside, where Flint was jerking and cursing at the ropes, the lantern light he’d sat on the railing his only illumination. He glanced up once, twice when he saw Billy. Billy smoothly took up the ropes from him.

“Go over there. I’ll lower us down, you fool,” he said without much fear.

He couldn’t quite read Flint’s expression in the dark, but he heard him scoff.

\----------------------

Billy rowed them to shore. James said nothing the entire time, and neither did the bosun. Darkness made it easy for men to hide their shame, and he had taken full advantage of that tonight. He’d drank just over half the bottle of absinthe. It was certainly different than rum; not only did it give him dangerously loose lips but it evidently compelled him to do stupid shit as well.

He was aware of it all even as he’d stumbled out on deck towards the launch. But he didn’t care. He needed off that ship, away from everything and everyone. Away from Billy. So of course it was Billy Silver had roused. He knew John well enough to have considered the quartermaster would scheme, but he supposed he hadn’t really cared. Silver had done it because Silver cared. And Billy cared now, too.

In some ways his bosun’s feelings were a revelation to him, one that had been circumnavigating his mind for some time but he had always pushed off course, not wanting to care. Caring about others was something he’d vowed never to do again after losing Thomas, and so Captain Flint had risen from those inhumane depths, kept in check only by Miranda’s gentle touch and stern words. Her loss had been the final blow and he’d nearly destroyed himself. James thought Silver might have saved him, but even that was only temporary.

Billy Bones was like a siren, calling out to him ceaselessly, one look ruining him in all the right ways and reverberating through his being in all the right places. Christ, he shouldn’t have drank so much.

Once they were ashore he directed Billy to one of Richard Guthrie’s guest houses were his house servants had stayed. He knew little else about the island, save for the area around the Guthrie estate. The property was still abandoned, save for the occasional squatter or pirate crew passing through. The guest houses would most likely be vacant; they were small but well kept quarters, large enough for a couple of beds and a chair or two. At least he’d thought of all this before he was drunk.

He knew he was starting to stumble, making a bee line in the dark. He tripped once, cursing, but Billy’s arm had shot out before he could fall. Billy kept a hand around his arm the rest of the way. When they reached one of the guest houses James fell into the bed and closed his eyes. Billy was saying something to him about his boots, then a blanket. He felt his feet being lifted, boots coming off. Then something was laid over him. He felt drugged, his thoughts slipping away as exhaustion overtook him. He clung to one last piece of coherence, that he owed both himself and Billy an answer. An answer, an answer, yes, he repeated the phrase over and over as darkness spread over him like a thick blanket.

\----------------

Billy slept in later than usual. The single window in the guest house was westward facing so the morning sun didn’t reach him. It was around 9, he figured, as he cautiously emerged from the brick building and looked around. He half expected to see the Walrus crew out looking for them, or at least to see Silver—too damned curious for his own good—thumping about, wondering about them. He saw no one. They must still be idling around on the beach. To his left loomed the Guthrie mansion, eerily quiet and already overgrown with tropical vines that snaked up the white building’s façade.

Flint was still sound asleep and Billy decided he needed it. He wondered around the estate, finding some fruit and a well that still contained clean water. He went inside the abandoned house and managed to find some mostly intact vases that would serve as containers. Most anything of value in the house had already been looted so he didn’t linger, except that a disheveled bookcase caught his eye in the study. Flint loved his books and Billy knew it had been a while since he’d seen him bring any on board from prize ships. He frowned at himself.

*Bringing him gifts now are you, you fool,* he chastised himself. He still had not the slightest clue where he and Flint stood with one another. The happenings at the lagoon had blurred the lines even more, and he cursed himself for the hundredth time for doing that to Flint.

He finished gathering drinking and washing water for them, along with a sac of fruits. He peered inside the guest house. Flint had rolled over on his back but still looked out. Billy went ahead and washed up and ate a couple of bananas and some grapes. When he cracked the door a second time Flint’s eyes were open and he was staring straight up. He blinked and turned to Billy.

Billy entered the snug building with a bucket of water and the sac of fruit.

“If you’re hungry or thirsty I’ve got you covered,” he said.

Flint pushed himself into a sitting position, stretching and arching his back. He took the sac and dug into it, pulling out another banana. Then he looked at the covers he’d shrugged out of and his boots that lay on the floor before returning his gaze to Billy.

“Thank you,” he said, eyes bright and earnest and Jesus, they were so fucking green, Billy thought.

They finished eating and Flint washed up. Billy dumped the water out beside the house, fully ready to go back to the Walrus as he re-entered the guest house but Flint was still sitting on the bed. He hadn’t put his boots on and didn’t look ready to go anywhere.

“Come here,” he said in a velvet voice that mildly shocked Billy and made it impossible to say no.

Suddenly wary, Billy gingerly sat down beside him on the bed a comfortable distance away. Flint angled himself towards him, one leg crooked up and resting across the bed. He was twisting the ring on his small finger, brows furrowed with thought. He huffed out a sigh.

“I’m tired Billy,” he began. “Waging a war requires a certain amount of energy, both physically and mentally. That doesn’t leave much energy left over for other pursuits, especially when I didn’t foresee other pursuits.”

He raised his eyes, searching Billy’s face. Though he looked rested, Billy saw the fatigue he spoke about like a shadow over his features.

“Before we left to pursue the Urca gold, Mr. Gates and I had an argument. He couldn’t forgive me for what happened to you. I said some cruel things to him after that. I told him he should have been a better father towards you, helped you to understand the world in which you lived. Jesus.”

Flint snorted, looking pained. Billy let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“I was thinking about Thomas when I said it. And I was thinking about you.”

The green eyes fixated on him again and again Billy swallowed hard. He wasn’t certain he liked Flint being so direct with him after all. It was almost frightening; every conversation led to new discoveries about James Flint that both exhilarated him and hurt him in all the right ways. Did Flint know that?

“My point is,” said Flint, “That I understood exactly what Hal meant when he told me that day how tired he was of putting up with me, of the energy it took to believe in me. And I let my own anger and determination consume our relationship. I don’t want to do that with you. I’m tired of the energy it takes to ignore you, to pretend you mean nothing to me, when it’s a lie.”

Flint’s voice cracked on his last word. Billy’s stomach was in knots. He took a breath.

“Tell me then,” he said when he trusted himself to speak, “No more games. No more ‘I hurt you, you hurt me back’. Can we be together? Can we at least try?”

Flint searched him for along minute, his face a perfect mask that had Billy’s teeth on edge. Then, slowly, almost imperceptively, Billy watched as the eyes softened and the worry lines on his forehead faded. Flint slid over so that their thighs were touching and Billy’s breath stuttered right before Flint leaned in and kissed him. Billy’s body melted at the contact. He let out a sigh, kissing him back. Flint’s fingers caressed his jaw and his cheek as he deepened the kiss. Billy’s body shuddered as he allowed Flint’s tongue to mingle against his own. Flint kept his kisses slow and sweet, his touches the same as his hands touched the side of Billy’s neck and throat. Billy pressed their thighs even tighter together. He cradled the back of Flint’s head, pushing his palm up against the flow of his short hair and delighting in the rough velvet feel to it.

Flint pulled away, licking his lips. Billy realized it was his own breathing that had become slightly heavy. The way Flint was looking at him did nothing to ease it either. Flint stood.

“Take off your clothes,” he said.

Billy grinned at him and quickly complied, watching as the captain did the same until they were both fully nude. Billy let out a low groan as Flint wasted no time in wrapping an arm around Billy’s back and pulling him close so that their bodies were tight together from head to toe.

“God, I want you. I can never stop wanting you, no matter what,” he heard himself say out loud when he hadn’t meant to. He sounded like a desperate whore, but Flint calmly kissed him, fingers grazing his bottom lip.

“I want to take you,” he whispered. “But I want all of you, not just that. First, I want to know every single inch of you.”

Flint’s eyes swept over him, filled with a desire so profound Billy felt his cock hardening as it lay pressed against their bellies. It wasn’t just lust in his gaze, Billy thought, it went deeper than that and the implications of that gaze both terrified and thrilled him.

He could easily imagine Flint looking at Thomas Hamilton with that gaze.

His captain’s touches brought him back to the present. Flint continued to ply him with tender kisses, sometimes open-mouthed and sometimes stopping to suck on a particular spot, such as the dip at the base of his throat. Billy let the small hums escape the back of his throat. He splayed his hands over Flint’s ass, pulling gently, then let them travel up his back and around to his chest, thumbs touching his nipples.

Flint gave an unsteady sigh as he kissed the top of Billy’s shoulder. Billy made circles with his thumbs, feeling his nipples harden. He pushed Flint back so he could press his mouth over Flint’s nipples, gently tugging and sucking at him. He felt Flint shiver as his hands came up to sweep through Billy’s hair.

Billy ran his tongue in a single, long stripe down Flint’s sternum, to his stomach and lower. He kissed the skin next to the thick orange hairs, feeling Flint’s cock bob against his throat. Billy looked up at him, awaiting the word to take him down but to his disappointment Flint pulled him back up into a kiss.

“No. This is going to be about you, understand?” he asked quietly. Billy frowned, not entirely sure he understood.

“But what about you?” he asked. “Don’t you—”

“Lie down,” Flint interrupted him, guiding him to the bed behind them.

Billy lay on his back, propped up on his elbows. Flint straddled him, a knee on either side of his ribs. He sat over Billy’s cock, letting his own cock stretch out over Billy’s stomach. Billy looked at it, wanting badly to take it in his mouth. Flint was searching him again, jade eyes wondering over Billy’s body as though it were a wonderland. Billy couldn’t remember anyone who had looked at him in such a way. Flint’s hands soon followed, tracing the deeply-chiseled contours of Billy’s muscles. His fingers stilled when he came to a scar on the side of Billy’s right pectoral muscle.

“How did you get this?” he asked.

“I was still in the navy. We were attacked by Spanish privateers and ordered to surrender, but the captain refused. I went at it against one of them. He came at me with a knife. I dodged, but not quite in time.”

“Hmm,” said Flint. He bent down and kissed the whitish mark and Billy felt every bit of Flint’s cleft move against his cock with the motion.

Flint kept exploring, and as eager as Billy was for him, there was something undeniably satisfying at having the captain’s complete attention on the rest of him.

“And here?” asked Flint, finding another, more faint scar that cut across the underside of Billy’s left arm.

“Ah,” said Billy. “That was post-Walrus time. Remember those two French sloops we found leaving St. Kitts?”

Flint nodded, bending to kiss that scar as well.

“I was running after one of them who tried to jump ship. My leg got caught in a loose brail line. I came down right on top of a dead man’s sword. The blade was flat on the deck, but I managed to upset it when my arm came over it. It looked worse than it was.”

Flint’s brow furrowed and the worry lines returned.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember that happening.”

Billy shrugged. “It’s all right. You and I weren’t exactly companions then. And besides, you were still relatively new to being captain. A lot on your plate.”

“True,” said Flint, though his expression still looked troubled. He shifted his ass over Billy’s cock and Billy groaned.

“Christ, you’re killing me,” he said.

The worry lines faded as Flint gave a crooked smile. He pinned Billy’s arms above his head and bent down until their bodies were pressed together again. This time his lips travelled down Billy’s body, legs shifting down, until his head was between Billy’s legs. He splayed his palms on both sides of Billy’s thighs, thumbs just brushing his balls. Billy lifted his head, straining to watch as Flint’s mouth came over his cock and, oh fuck.... Zealous butterflies danced in his stomach, and a flash of warmth spread out from his groin.

Flint sucked on half his cock, wetting it thoroughly and tonguing his tip before taking him all down. Billy bit back a moan. He struggled between letting his head rest and closing his eyes, relishing every single movement of his captain’s mouth, and wanting to see Flint work him because the sight left him breathless.

Flint’s moustache and beard appeared fiery orange in the morning sunlight. Billy could even make out the faint clusters of freckles over his right eyebrow. He bit back another moan. Flint was fucking gorgeous. Billy had rarely encountered red-heads before becoming a sailor. Now his mind ran backwards to when he’d first laid eyes on Flint. Even then the combination of orange beard and piercing green eyes had surprised him, mesmerized him.

The memory was shattered as Flint’s right hand cupped and pulled down on his balls while his mouth still worked his cock. Flint had shifted slightly, tucking his legs up under him so that when Billy lifted his head he had a direct view of the mounds of Flint’s rump.

“Oh fuck,” he finally stammered, fisting the sheets as Flint swallowed him whole again and pulled hard on his balls. More heat coursed through him. Flint’s nose tickled his pubic hair. He pulled off of Billy and pushed Billy back enough so that his ass was more exposed. Flint’s eyes looked up to him for a second, heavily-lidded and the beautiful greens of his irises now just small rims around a sea of black.

“Flint,” Billy groaned. He could only imagine how he looked to Flint, but it was a having clear effect on the other man because he heard Flint hum deep in his throat, his lips parting just before his head disappeared again and then Billy let out a strangled, high-pitched moan as Flint’s tongue found his puckered rim, licking and pushing against it, demanding entrance. He tried hard not to contract his muscles, but the sensation was too much. Flint licked around his rim and cleft like a thirsting dog after water. Billy gently rolled his hips and moaned louder to encourage him.

Flint pressed against him with a finger, easing his way inside Billy up to his first knuckle, then pulling out and replacing it with his tongue, his other hand coming up to stroke his cock again. Fucking Christ, he had no idea Flint would be like this, *could* be like this.

Flint worked his fingers inside him, using his mouth and Billy’s own sweat as lubrication. The burn was minimal, and once Flint had two fingers fully inside him he wiggled them rapidly back and forth. Unable to contain himself any longer, Billy’s back bucked off the mattress. He writhed and squirmed as Flint’s tongue licked him and fingered him all at once it seemed, the separate sensations becoming one. Billy thought he might die of pleasure. He could feel the sweat on his back and neck, see it glisten off his abs. Suddenly he wanted to see Flint’s face, to touch him.

“Flint,” he croaked out, shocked at how the lust choked him. Flint’s mouth left him and he looked up, on his hands and knees.

“Jesus,” Billy huffed out. He motioned for him with a hand. “Come here.”

Flint looked half wrecked. He crawled up Billy, face flushed and coated in perspiration, his eyes hooded. His lips were full and wet under his beard.

He met Billy’s lips with a kiss so slow and sensual Billy didn’t know what to think, except that he’d never been kissed like that and he wanted to drown in it.

Flint’s breathing was labored, his eyes closed as he pressed his tongue deep inside Billy. Billy tasted himself, all tangy musk and sweat. He bucked himself up against Flint’s body, feeling Flint’s cock and rubbing against it. Flint moaned. When he pulled away Billy couldn’t understand his expression. He looked almost pained, eyes like liquid fire.

\--------------

Billy Bones would be the death of him, James decided right then and there. He would. And James wanted it more than all the fucking gold in the world. Perhaps even more than he wanted English blood.

He looked down at Billy, completely addicted to the bosun’s shattered features. He was panting and sweating and looking at him as though he were a god. Truth be told, a part of James felt god-like, knowing he had such power over a single mortal man, but that wasn’t where his current source of pleasure came from.

He missed that look, missed the feel and the smell of another man. It wasn’t simply the feeling of giving pleasure to someone else; it was of knowing what that pleasure could do and what it might mean in all the spaces and times between sex. He wanted to see that emotion on Billy’s face.

Vaguely he wondered if he were going mad or if the absinthe were still affecting him. He couldn’t form any arguments against that singular, all-consuming thought as he touched Billy, the slick heat their bodies were creating acting as a drug and destroying his reasoning.

He went back down to between Billy’s legs, licking and pulling and sucking until everything was a wet, wonderful mess and Billy’s hole was wide. He latched his mouth over it and sucked hard, feeling Billy writhe around him and mumble out more curses. And then:

“James,* please!*”

James stilled and closed his eyes. Billy sounded wrecked. His own name spilling over the bosun’s lips, so full of want, made his cock ache. Yes, this man would be the death of him.

James came up and moved to the where the corner of the bed was pushed into the corner of the wall. He grabbed the bed’s pillow and propped it up in the corner, settling down into an angled sitting position. He spread his legs and motioned to Billy.

“Your back to me,” he said at Billy’s hesitant gaze.

James helped him, sliding down slightly and letting Billy position his rump over his cock.

“That’s it,” whispered James, guiding him down over his cock. James held himself steady as Billy’s ass slid down over his girth. James’s entire body shivered at the contact. They adjusted a few times.

“Lean into me,” said James.

Billy did so, his shoulder blades over James’s chest so that their faces could come together for a kiss. Billy experimentally rocked his ass a few times and James groaned.

“Yes, like that,” he breathed out.

He opened his eyes. He could see most of the bosun’s taunt body over his arm as Billy worked himself over James’s cock. Billy’s head fell back on his shoulder, face contorting and then going slack.

“Mmm….nuhhh.”

James watched his face, entranced at how Billy pulled his pleasure from him.

“That’s it, just like that. Yea,” he heard himself mutter at Billy’s ear.

When Billy started to pull on himself James batted his hand away and replaced it with his own, smearing Billy’s precum over his shaft and twisting his fist over it instead. Billy moaned and whimpered. James watched, trying to suppress the white-hot heat he felt burning at the edges inside him. He looked down as he jerked on Billy’s cock, thrusting his own cock up inside him with an ever-increasing pace until the sound of their love making was loud and obscene.

James slowed down again, not ready to end it yet. He rolled his hips gently, kissing and sucking at the side of Billy’s neck.

“You are fucking amazing, you know that?” Billy breathed out. Their cheeks rubbed together with their coupling. James’s heart fluttered. He twisted his palm around Billy’s shaft with painstaking slowness. Billy pressed his ass as hard as he could against James’s cock so that James’s balls were nearly flat against him. He could do little more than wiggle himself inside Billy, but at this point it was enough, and a white-hot jolt zinged through him, the pressure suddenly right there again.

“You feel so good, so fucking good,” Billy said, twisting to give him a sloppy kiss. He was completely lost and James delighted in it. So many times in the dead of night he’d imagined or even dreamt about utterly consuming Billy, making him keen and cry out after a relentless fuck. And he still wanted that, but now all he wanted was to consume the younger man in a different way, to make Billy feel…what? Whatever truth was buried underneath the tenderness he was showing Billy, it scared him. Even so, he wanted their encounter to continue this way.

\--------------

“Get up,” Flint panted out. Billy shifted off of him and Flint quickly turned on his side and pulled Billy’s back to him. He hastily positioned himself and pushed back in. Billy hiked his leg up and Flint resumed fucking him, but even now, with both of them so aroused the captain kept his pace. Billy wondered if he was trying to hold back. Was he afraid of hurting him? That didn’t make much sense, but truth be told, Billy didn’t give a shit. Seeing this part of Flint had him awe-struck, or as awe-struck as he could be, given his brain was as good as grog at the moment.

Flint rolled his hips and planted kisses on every part of Billy’s back he could reach. Billy could hear the captain—*his* captain—moan and curse softly. Billy twisted so their lips could meet again. Flint’s breath came in short huffs as he thrusted into him, his lips wet and sloppy but still soft and sensual. Each movement of his cock, no matter how small, sent warm butterflies throughout Billy’s stomach. He was so close, and Flint…Billy cut off a stuttering sound. For fuck’s sake, he couldn’t call him that now, not even in his head.

“James, please,” he said again.

“What do you want?” James half-moaned, half-whispered back.

“I want to come. I want you to make me come.”

James took hold of Billy’s cock, pressing himself hard up against the other man. He finally let loose, slamming his cock inside Billy and Billy let out a loud, shattered moan, mouth open. James reached up and wrapped his other hand around Billy’s head in a vice-like grip, holding him in place as he fucked hard and fast into him. Billy went rigid, screwing his eyes shut. Everything else faded from existence except for James. His senses soared; the heat and sweat and musk and jagged breath; the press of James’s lips and teeth hard against his neck, the feel of his palm pulling on his cock so fast…

Billy keened and spasmed as his climax seemed to swell and burst from him. Dimly he heard James moan, then more teeth on his neck. Billy looked down as come spurted from his cock and covered James’s fist. He closed his eyes and for a few sublime seconds everything in existence seemed to drop away behind the bright orange and white of his eyelids.

James was still rocking gently into him when he opened his eyes. When Billy was finally spent James let go of him and slowly slid out.

Billy flipped over on his back to catch his breath, a sloppy grin on his face. James followed Billy’s gaze as it landed on his cock. He was still rock-hard.

“Fuck,” said Billy. He lifted up and took hold of James’s erection, which looked like it was positively aching. It took only a minute or so before the white-hot pressure spilled up and out of him and James bucked as he came. Billy bent down and sucked at his tip, fingers wrapped securely around him as James came hard and long, crying out and surprising both of them with the force of it.

Billy, though, looked like a drunkard drowning when he finally met James’s gaze. He collapsed beside him, giving James tired kisses, fingers coming up to touch his face. James nuzzled into him. For long minutes afterward neither one of them spoke or moved much. It took several long minutes before he managed to sit up on the bed. The world came back to him—the small guest house they were in, the sun now high in the sky outside. Surely Silver would be wondering where they were by now.

Billy turned from the window back to Flint. *No, James now,* he told himself, and he grinned without meaning to, but his whole body felt like fucking jelly and it was too hard not to.

James slowly echoed his smile, an eyebrow raised.

“All right?” he asked.

Billy laughed out right, feeling drunk. Perhaps that was the best way to describe it.

“I feel drunk. I don’t know if I can walk,” he said.

James looked away from him, trying to hide his grin as he pushed off the bed and grabbed his clothes.

“I’ll take that to mean you enjoyed yourself, then,” he said plainly.

Billy watched him. He didn’t exactly look like the same James Flint he’d known for so long, but by now Billy recognized the mask sliding back in place. Too soon. His afterglow was replaced by frustration. He rose and jerked the shirt and pants from James, tossing them on the bed. He raised James’s hand and twined their fingers together. He could still feel the heat radiating off the other man. He pressed his forehead against James’s and felt him stiffen in response.

“We need to return to the ship,” James said, eyes cast to the side. The tightness in his voice was almost painful to Billy’s ears.

“Wait,” said Billy, refusing to let James untangle them despite his gentle efforts.

“Billy…”

“No. You don’t get to do it again,” Billy said softly. “You don’t get to turn into Captain Flint and pretend. You can put on a show for the men, for Silver, and tell yourself that’s why you can’t have this…”

Billy kept his gaze focused on the rise and fall of James’s chest, running a hand over the damp orange hairs there. He felt his vision blurring. He felt James inhale sharply.

“But you *can* have it,” he continued, swallowing down the walnut in his throat. “Because I want it, I want you. I…”

Billy cut himself off, turning his head and sucking in a breath. The room had grown stifling, the air stagnant. He was suddenly petrified. No, he’d *been* petrified for some time, doing this dance with James. But now he’d exposed James’s soft underbelly and he was even more petrified of losing him than he was of rejection.

“What?” James asked.

Billy blinked. He still hadn’t looked up at James, not with his eyes so blurry. Warily he glanced up. James was watching him. His face looked frozen in place, jade eyes neither cold nor warm. Billy’s hand was still on his chest. It felt like James was scarcely breathing.

“I love you,” Billy said, letting it out in one breath. His hand slid down James’s chest, too slick to remain. Billy turned away. He didn’t want to see the look of shock on James’s face. He didn’t know if he could stand it.

The seconds stretched between them until Billy thought the very air in the room would snap apart around them. He heard the bed creak as James sat down on it. He kept his gaze on the blue of the sky outside the window and the shadow of tree limbs there, making the sunlight dance inside the room. Fuck it. He’d said it.

“I love you.” He repeated the words. They came out stronger this time.

“I don’t expect you to love me back. But I had to tell you, because I can’t keep letting myself get pulled into you anymore. I won’t walk out of this room wondering when our next meeting will be, wondering how many days or weeks I’ll have to suffer without you, the *real* you. I won’t do it. I’m done.”

He swallowed the walnut lump again, the tears streaming down his cheeks. He cursed them. He cursed James Flint and all the world.

“No.”

Billy startled, half turning. James rose off the bed. Billy dared to face him. James moved swiftly, hands coming to cup Billy’s face as his body pressed itself against his own, forcing Billy back into the wall. James kissed him with what could only be called anguish, his lips harsh and fast and half-hearted. Billy weakly pushed against his chest but gave up. James held him firmly in place with his body and his hands and a groan escaped him, full of that same anguish.

“No,” James repeated against his neck. He seemed to go limp against Billy, as though he were exhausted.

“You are mine, and I am yours,” he said. “Do you understand?”

The room seemed to shift around Billy. Everything took on a surreal quality. What did this mean? Did it mean—God help him—could it mean what Billy had thought was impossible?

“What, what are you saying?” he asked, forcefully pushing James off his shoulder and making him stand.

James looked at him almost pitifully, his usual veneer gone. His eyes were like two pools whose depths were immensely beautiful and sorrowful at the same time, twin windows to his soul that Billy could no longer shut.

“I told you earlier,” James began, his voice somehow steadfast, “That I didn’t think I was capable of sharing myself with another man the way I had with Thomas Hamilton.”

Billy forced the confusing cobwebs from his mind and watched James intently as he spoke.

“I was wrong,” he continued. “One thing that always haunts me about our relationship was that it almost never was. He was the one to approach me, not to tell me how he felt, but to *show* it. He possessed the courage to do something I never would have back then. Not many men would have. If left up to me, we might never have found one another in that way.”

Billy knew he was skirting around what he wanted to say; he had been for some time. Something in him went utterly calm. He listened and waited. Neither one of them moved away from either the wall or each other. Though James was still naked before him, he couldn’t look away from his eyes.

“There were times,” said James, “after I lost him,—times when the rage died down and I actually felt optimistic—that if I were to ever love someone again, I wouldn’t let that person slip through my fingers.”

Billy let out a long sigh, closing his eyes and letting them burn. He felt like he’d finally landed after a long downhill tumble and had hit merciful water instead of rock.

“And I do love you,” James said, voice like silk as he reached up and cupped the side of his neck. Billy opened his eyes again and leaned into the touch, feeling his entire body relax as a kind of peace slipped over him. *I am yours, and you are mine.* He repeated the phrase in his head. It sounded right, and if he were to speak it out loud he knew it would even taste right. At last the dance was over.

***

"I'm going to kiss you,  
and you're going to forget your legs;  
know this  
and  
prepare yourself  
for falling."

~Tyler Knott Gregson


End file.
